When I Open It And Peek Inside

 

i see this:

from the moment of my creation i
was oddly made and strangely gifted
with talents and abilities that i
didn't want, didn't know how to use.
i sing and bring the world to my door,
but i don't let them in. i write and
people flock around me and tell me i've
just expressed what is deep inside them,
and i want to scream at them to go away,
leave me alone, come closer, do you really
think so? thank you, i love you, i hate
you. i know what animals are thinking.
i hear them in my head. they come to me
and ask me things and i try to tell them
in my language and they try to understand,
but it is one way, really.

i can feel you out there, i can hear your
thoughts. i can feel your desire, your
disdain, your contempt, your admiration,
i know your fears and i wipe my eyes
when you cry your secret tears.

gifts i have no idea how to use unless you
are under my hands and i am doing what i do
for a living. i was born, i think, to be a
nurse. it is what i do best, no matter what
anyone who has heard me sing or who has read
what i write says. it is the one gift i always
know what to do with, always know how to use.
i use my empathy or telepathy or whatever it
is and i get to the heart of the matter and
i know when it's serious and i know when you
just need a little of my time, a little of my
heart, and i can give it with joy.

but at the center of me is a block of ice that
never melts. i choose to keep it frozen. i
choose to keep it inviolate. it is my choice
not to share it with anyone else alive.

inside that ice is what makes me tick, what
breathes life into me, what i am. it is the
child i was, the woman i became and am becoming
still. it is my love for something greater
than myself, my smallness, my own part in the
greater plan.

denise

 

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