the run on

I could babble a billion half truths and half-assed associations about my life the way i see it now and life the way it's been seen before and i could sit here and talk about how my ranking on myspace doesn't mean a thing to me because im beyond that kinda crap or i can go on again about the gaping holes and whistling winds that run rampant in my soul or i could talk of the kittens under the deck and how i wonder about my right to give them a 'better' life but you know, we don't live in california where they could bask in the sun all day long all year long or i could talk, again, about my wellbutrin making me feel almost human again, especially when im driving and listening to the disco station, or i could talk again about my flowers or i could talk again about my angst, my aunts, my fat, my cat, my traumas or my past, i can talk about the bluebirds or the bunnies forever in my life, i could talk about the poets that almost seem to understand me even tho they turned to dust hundreds of years ago or i could talk about family, my daddy, my momma, i could talk about depression, cancer, attachment, detachment, anger or pain... or dragons, even, or wood nymphs, or the spirits of people or trees or of the earth, or i could talk about you even, maybe, if i know you at all, and i could talk about walking away or choosing to not, or choosing to run, or choosing to stop, and i could even talk about refried beans or elephant ears or ice skates or oranges or self care or free radicals or free speech or puppies or birkenstocks or hair

but really i just wish right now

to sit quietly

and be calm

and be happy-ish maybe

because for a moment im not dwelling

or analyzing

or pondering my regrets and

for this moment i'm just breathing

and listening to the rain.