I wrote this poem yesterday and then blogged about it in prose but I think it works best and succinctly as a poem. Let me know what you think!
Being on the edge
My dad
Used to blame
My moodiness as a teenager
On my bad Welsh blood
My mum told me
Not to despise working class people
But she never said me where I belonged
growing up
In a small town
I longed for
The freedom of the city
Now I live freely
In a city
I miss the warm cloying
Small town community
The story of my life
Has been about
Being on the edge
And not belonging
Shot through
With moments
Of shared connection
With people
I am
and
we are
I am both
I and we
And
Sometimes
Lost in between
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2 comments:
liminal!
Being on the edge can be a good place, a gateway, a portal to things new, a signpost for others, a place of warning of danger.
You may be of far more use to humnaniy as an edge-dweller than if you were in the thick of it, not seeing the wood for the trees!
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