And so we watch and so we learn/With eyes wide for our dreams to yearn

Get Out

Get out.
Flee now, the growing cobwebs from within the deepest recesses of your brain, the stagnant solidarity you can sense setting within your cerebellum
Escape the stillness given by time, by the single strand of life you are spinning on, there is more to life than this, don’t you know?
Get out.
Now. Tomorrow. For fifty years to come.
Your chances gone are past, but your chances now are here.
Barricade your fears in walls of what you don’t know;
Embrace the world as you are yet to know it.
Come on,
Get out.
How dare you think all there is to know has already been found!
Open your eyes and open your arms and run across the horizon.
The future is as certain as the pregnant pauses between a methuselah’s murmurs, and it’s as beautiful and bright, as the distant sun reaching its rays to the other side of this terrestrial body spinning beneath your feet
Get out.
Now. Never stay. The nearness of bars increase by the increments of every time you turn down the chance to try something new, every time you say no.
Get out.
Find freedom. Find loneliness. Find fear. Find love.
Find roots where you truly belong, and leave dust trails where you don’t.
Find details in where you want to be – find everything you weren’t expecting and most of the things you didn’t want to.
And kiss them, savor them, taste them with each breath as your lungs grasp for air – taste them with lips smiling in the sheer joy of knowing more, seeing more, feeling more – living and being more!
Get over yourself.
You are so small. So magnificent and imperfectly perfect, don’t you see?
It isn’t until you stop scrutinizing the mirror for every flaw, that you can truly see yourself – let go of that, see the wonders around you.
Stop waiting. Stop assuring your security, your future.
You’re not safe, not a single one of us are.
You are alive.
Take that risk, take that chance. Stop being uncertain! Stop not deciding. Make a choice. Take the plunge. Leap into something new and
Get out.
Find the skyline you never knew existed.
Find the whimsical vision of your dreams.
Find the people too incredible for you to have believed existed.
Find the stories you want to be told over and over and over again.
They are out there, waiting for you.
Just get out.
Reach out. Reach in. Reach across the continents with hands and words filled with things you don’t even know if you can give yet.
Reach others, give and give and thank and share and take.
Surprise us all, surprise yourself, with the time and place, each moment and chance when you can,
when you could,
when you did get out.

Get out.

Get out

I’ll be out there with you.



Inspiration is a funny thing. Sometimes it’s like the ocean, washing over you in small wavelets, until you’re surrounded by swirling creativity – or other times it pierces through you, like a sudden ray of sunshine, a bolt of sudden happenstance, a thought or image striking your mind with brilliant urgency.
Most often for me though, inspiration forms in fermenting bubbles; ideas simmering, growing and combining with escalating intensity, magma building up under the tectonic plates of my consciousness, until the pressure becomes all too much and I succumb to my pen and paper, in an ‘attack of poetry’ as I find myself calling it.

This was one of those times. Sitting down, this all spilled out, and honestly I’m not very sure about it. Going back through the archives of this blog, you can see this isn’t my usual format for poetry – honestly it feels more like a piece of spoken word, than standard verse or prose. I can imagine, when my sister comes home, us standing together and speaking it together, alternating lines as our voices convey the feelings I hoped to portray with these words.

And maybe, when all is said and done, it’s not very good. Like I said, it’s not a way of writing that I’ve done before – and yet, the words of Sarah Kay come to me, from her TED talk about Spoken Word:

“Sometimes the only way I know how to work through something is by writing a poem. And sometimes I get to the end of the poem and look back and go, “Oh, that’s what this is all about,” and sometimes I get to the end of the poem and haven’t solved anything, but at least I have a new poem out of it.”

And maybe that’s all that poetry is about. Throwing words together, combining ideas, spreading our consciousness on the canvas at hand and sculpting it just enough to be able to stand back and say, “Hey, maybe others might like to look at this too.”

Comments on: "Get Out" (2)

  1. no i’ll stay in bd because snuggly ok join me :*

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