Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Stornoway

I never made a promise that I couldn’t keep,

but I could never hold on to the many that were made to me.

Soaked in snake oil,

and given to a girl with an open heart,

they were just the right words, at the right time,

from the wrong kind of optimist,

one who thinks that they are capable of caring more than they actually can.

I was never going to be a star, or sew my seeds or go to Stornoway under someone else’s steam.

I dreamed of big things, and let them promise them to me,

because I had to learn (the hard way) that I had nobody but myself,

and myself was quite enough to take me anywhere I wanted to go.

I will manifest in the moonlight on mysterious islands.

I will mimic myself in the excited eyes of a new and hopeful child.

I will glow on low lit television sets that seem to skip and distort when my past sees what he has lost.

I guess that I’m a free girl now,

feeling seasick,

swinging from my necklaces,

tied to the lonely, broke down pier.

I keep my shoes dry,

but never my rosy cheeks,

or eyelashes.

I will never die,

as long as I shall live,

not if I can help it,

out of spite or out of fear.

Don’t tell my mother that I am damned to be a damsel in distress,

just tell her that the last time you saw me,

I was swinging and singing in the sunlight,

and that I had promised I would make it home soon,

with her grandson,

and all my souvenirs.

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