Cute young thing,/
her daddy driving/
their white minivan,/
puts her hands/
out the window/
as we go/
wind surfing,/
smiling,/
with me,/
rocking Queen./
My first freeway dance.
Cute young thing,/
her daddy driving/
their white minivan,/
puts her hands/
out the window/
as we go/
wind surfing,/
smiling,/
with me,/
rocking Queen./
My first freeway dance.
She said Creatives/
are difficult. I’m not one/
enough to know why.
Thanks to oracles/
in my life. You know who you/
are. (You’re oracles!)
Through life’s woods
I wandered.
Down a path
not-often trodden,
I stumbled,
soul-searching,
burdened,
sorrowing,
because of rejection,
because of loneliness.
In a still glen,
facing my feelings,
fearing,
confused,
I found her,
an oracle
in blue.
I asked honestly
for others perceptions
of me.
Pause.
Had I offended?
The oracle spoke:
“You view the world differently.
Creatives see things
creatively.
And thus, you are,
typically,
misunderstood.”
“What you as a creative see,
you view with variety
and clarity.”
“Some use a paintbrush,
some a pencil or pen
some use a sculptor’s tool,
some a potter’s wheel,
some a keyboard or strings.
Some see the world
through a wide angle
or a macro
or a telephoto lens.”
“But what you see,
you can capture
and share
with the world
who is blind,
or at least myopic
or farsighted
or mono-colored.”
“Because you do that,
we in the world who have ears,
may hear;
and having eyes,
may see.
And having minds,
may understand.
And having souls,
may feel
and grasp
and learn
and know.”
“That’s why creatives,
though you’re misunderstood,
though you’re criticized,
though you’re shunned,
by some,
must always exist.
That’s why
you must always persevere.”
“Because without you,
the world would miss
what we otherwise
might see
or hear
or feel
or experience
and understand.”
As she spoke
those words,
the truth,
I reeled
under the torrent
and weight
of responsibility.
At the same time,
I felt my burden lifted.
I felt my rejection taken.
I felt,
again,
fire in my veins
and joy
in my heart.
Though I’m often alone
on that solitary path,
I’m not lonely.
I now know
and accept
that it is okay
to see
and write
what others might not.
Even if I’m rejected,
by some,
others will see.
I’ll share,
not in a condescending way,
not in reprimand,
not in a “you must see that
this this way,
or you’re wrong”.
Not asking them to
“be better”,
because they are
as they are,
just
as I am
as I am.
Instead, I’ll give
my words,
my thoughts,
my feelings
in a kind,
loving,
sharing way.
I’ll say:
“Look at this thing
I see.
Look what I found!
Come share it with me.”
Just like she,
visionary oracle,
in her wisdom,
helped me see
the opportunity
and responsibility
I bear
as I live,
and share,
my life honestly,
with integrity,
creatively.
My father is a/
good man. I am grateful that/
I came to his house.
My worthiness must/
not just be physical, but/
spiritual as well.
She would have enjoyed/
the experience more, but/
I needed to learn.
Why so quickly raise/
red flags before finding out/
what is really true?
Dolls I’ve known have had/
no mind, will, or power of/
their own. Sad objects.