The Truth About Today

I'm always so tempted to keep my dreary days to myself, because I'm afraid of bumming anyone out. But, I thought I'd share a little prose poem I wrote as therapy. We all have days like the following, I think. Here's what mine is like:

__________________
TODAY

I am vulnerable today
In the bleak of November
With a clinging mist and a fine rain
And air that sinks into your flesh like invading hands.

I am uncertain of this moment and tomorrow.
The past is past, and this is well
But all that is still worries me
And all that comes concerns me.

I feel strange today.
Not hopeless, but unprotected.
Alone and fragile.
I need a blanket from the world.

Today, I do not want to be brave
I do not want to have faith, so much as shelter.
A warm cup in hand, a small, hidden place.
An unanswered phone.
A place where no one can find me.
A place where I do not exist to anyone else
Where I hardly exist to myself.
A place where you cannot require or request.
You cannot ask me, you cannot tell me
You cannot judge me, you cannot coerce or sway me.
You cannot argue, you cannot spin.
You cannot touch me here.

You cannot find me at all
In this quiet, dim place with warm cup in hand.
I am not yours.
And when I am ready, I may come forth from my hiding spot
Standing taller, acting bolder, feeling like more and not less.
But I am vulnerable today
In the bleak of November
With a clinging mist and a fine rain
And air that sinks into your flesh like invading hands.