A Little Taste of Things to Come (eventually)

 Make the words

Jangle and clang

together

Just like my thoughts

All a jumble

Falling and twisting and turning as 

they tumble

down

into place.

What place?

This place,

As much a mystery to me

As it is to you,

Dear reader.

Now isn’t that something?

I would give you a map,

If only I had one.

One doesn’t know

Oneself

Well enough to give out directions,

Except in the well traveled places.

The sites of self sabotage

The deep dark spaces

These I know 

I will describe the topography so well

You will think you are there,

Tasting the air and

Touching the soil.

And oh my is it fertile 

That soil.

If only my hopes 

Grew as strong and sturdy as

My fears, my disbelief, and

My imposter syndrome

Then the bones of my dreams

Could hold up my world.