We live in a world of what ifs.
What if we did something else,
or what if we weren’t there (as
sometimes we shouldn’t be
when it comes down to the
wrong place at the right time).
What if it never happened?
What if we had responded
differently or if we had taken
the advice we were told?
Would we have been so bold?
05/30/2023 j.g.l.
Is what you do enough?
For who?
For you?
Self-doubt?
Self-love?
Self-centered?
Is it selfish to think mainly
of what I need to do for me,
myself, and I?
Why?
When will I find resolve to
my never-ending queries?
Will it be enough?
Do you still doubt?
Do you struggle with answers,
as much as the questions?
Can you decide?
Are you trying?
Is that enough?
05/23/2023 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
I could warm milk on the stovetop, but that
would only leave a mess. Sometimes you don’t do
what you need to do, because it leaves
a mess. The day still stings, long gone now. It’s shadows
of commerce and confusion invariably run up
against ever-present fears. My heart is restless, doubting
all intelligence my head provides. My body rises,
on its own will, against tepid protest, returning
slowly to an empty kitchen. Six minutes
past three. It feels later. The clock denies. Laughter outside,
from wayward teenagers, scurries through the window.
I wonder how, in the past, I could sequester myself
from day-to-day cruelties. I wonder why I no longer
could, or was allowed to. Or why I let myself
express everything I felt or what I didn’t. The soul
recycles its madness, the night still the night, taking
on the tensions of a thunderstorm that will
never come. My body is weary, all of me is
weak. I am tired. Yet my fingers move, like this is
automatic, like this is what they should be doing. My
mind is all over the place, but my fingers are here. Words
appear, recounting, repeating, earnest thoughts of fears
splattered across the page. Sometimes you have to do
what you need to do. Even, if it leaves a mess.
©2014 j.g. lewis
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
