“Official” by eLPy



Here it goes, I think to myself,

I’m going to put me out there

Not unlike a squirrel in the road

Timing sure is important

But importance is not without the necessity

Of speed

I wish my thoughts

and hands, fingers, could move like lightning

pushing out work after work

like pages in a print factory

hurry up and reach the other side

before hit with doubt

these pages burn, and squirrels are crushed

Reaching in to my bag of tricks

I wonder what the audience will think of my show

Will they know, or at least


The amount of effort and tears, smiles and fears

That went into what they watch?

Will it matter once it’s in their hands

Beginning the process of tattered pages

Reading the accounts of untold rages?

I am no doubt fearful of their response

Even though regardless I will still go on

Or will it transform me if they doubt me

Push me aside and reroute me

Setting off reviews that spark the rest

Leaving all my work to be bruised and battered at best

When fame is layed upon the almost unsuspecting

A life, or many is changed forever

So it would seem then too

For the opposite reaction.

I’m suddenly bound up by this craft

Buried into it

Then sprouting out, burgeoning

I’m having moments

Probably like a menopausal woman

Where my heart skips curiously

Like a child in the park

Thinking what emotions and provocations

My work could spark.

Previewing the words of

Potential critics I am merely and mostly

Even more excited.

It is so that they may love me

They may be moved

And catch themselves thinking of me.

But then again maybe it is too arrogant

Of me to think they’ll think so much

Of me, in their own time.

That like me, they’ll spend their previous

Cents and senses to look into the times

I spend lamenting and unrelenting

To let my feelings and thoughts

Fall by the way side.

Reading them and into their lives

It is the writer, especially the poet

Who crucifies him or herself

Putting it all out there like

A nude model in the middle of winter

Perhaps we all put on those extra pounds

Like natural layers.

Maybe they’ll see more through my words

Than I want or invite them to.

Maybe I give too much away

Or then again, maybe not enough.

I’m reading of them and seeing who I like

And who I think I’m like

But would rather be more

Crafted and inspiring

Not that I reject them, after all

I am the one who is aspiring,

Their words are in my hands

Printed and pronouncing themselves

Into my own thoughts.

Will they sit with me even when I leave

The pages closed?

I am happy to see what I might

Or even could call

Companions in this world

Teachers or authors or at least

More than just me out here and alone.

I am further excited to be amongst them

On those shelves and tucked into

The open in not so

Wide-open busy warehouses

Where seekers will find me

Where unsuspecting, possible fans

Will run across me, perhaps

Find me compelling

Like an image trapped

Inside the cage behind your eyes

It is myself now

Who will cast my words out there

My works, like letters in alphabet soup

They will find a life all their own

Like children leaving the nest

But still I will be their landing,

Their real life beginning

Their author.

And in their hearts

I find myself solidified inside this world

Of words

Where we have not yet met.

– eLPy                                                                               Next Poem

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