Des-inspiration

Nobody has ever asked me
what's like to be myself
and whether it is a pleasurable accident
or a painful route.

Some days I am an apprentice of the black stars
and my limited wisdom can be contained
in words never said, never heard.
Some others I feel like a shepherdess of copper clouds
binding hell and heavens together, exercising
my duality with some pretense as my yin and my yang
take turns to satisfy my romance with the devil.

I might learn something about myself this year
if I have time after work, after the house chores,
after praying, after celebrating the moon,
after playing mummy with my daughter while
I still can.

A suntanned tall guy called Mr Time has entered
my room. I observe his broad shoulders ready
to support all the blame for everything that will
go wrong this year.
Why am I afraid as he walks towards me offering
a bottled hope and a new canned truth?

And as love spiral downwards,
I try not to feel the past, forgiving myself
for my lack of elegance when I was expected
to be a remastered version of myself
but nobody can teach an old dog new tricks:
I don't know whether I am the dog or the tricks.

I have been trying hard to become somebody.
Right now I want to be nobody:
there is no price to be paid, there are no questions
to be answered or boundaries.
Beguile me with delicate oaths as I polish my ego
and memories.

Nobody has ever asked me
what's like to be myself
and whose reality and omissions
are these?
For all of you this can be reduced
to a self-confessional-release-of-emotions-thing.
For me, it has been my experienced mystery,
my private earthquake year after year
but it is all I have
and I am glad I still have something
that I don't owe.

Karla Bardanza
http://karlabardanzapoems.blogspot.com
http://skycladatmidnight.tumblr.com
http://poeticpostcards.blogspot.com