hotdogs 4 breakfast

Hotdogs for breakfast, changing up my schedule,
trying to jump start a change in me.
My body is changing, being rebellious,
growing new life-forms unbidden by me.

Like mother, like daughter,
in ways good and not,
seeking change at my own bidding
not by a clock.

I keep looking for meaning in my life,
I keep looking for direction in my life,
I keep looking.

How will I know when I find my course?
How will I know to stop opening doors?
How will I?

I feel like I've been sleepwalking
through my life for years
I'm opening my eyes now
my sight blurry from tears.

I find myself an orphan
my parents gone
a true end of my childhood
and loss of my home.

Home is where the heart is
and my heart is wandering blind
I once knew where I belonged
but that was once upon a time
now.

Hotdogs for breakfast.

I attended the 6th Annual Spoken Word Festival Open Mic tonight. I was treated to a wide range of styles of poetry, lyrics, poetic prose from an even wider range of people. Mothers reading poems for their daughters. Barely-teens giving voice to their hopes. Twenty-somethings ranting about social injustice, politics, religion. Folks talking about finding love, making love, losing love. Theatrical works in the space of minutes. Very inspiring and begs the question: how to hear more of this? How to be a participant? My penning above began on my drive home and, quite literally, wrote itself as I typed. Maybe I'll take up an open mic one night. Maybe.