Maybe it's Cliche

Maybe it's cliche to post poetry about feelings in blogs... but I'm doing it anyway.

I'm a writer by nature- I went to college for 5 years to hone my craft, and I keep it all to myself... My job does not involve writing at all. I've submitted one thing to publishers before; it was a nursery rhyme sort of thing about fairies. Everyone rejected it. They all said they didn't need anymore children's books to try again at a later time. This pretty much shattered every hope I ever had of being published in something that didn't involve a contest. I haven't sat down and written my story yet. I think my story is one that should be told. I think I can help people. But for now-

There's too much happening. I don't know where my story goes from here.

Tired of my thoughts and afraid of my dreams,

Numb is the state I'm looking for-
I can see it from here:
The road is paved with broken hearts
All red and soggy.
Each bump is one filled with hope...
The rod gets smoother as I move along.
In the mirror is the land of Hope and Aspiration
Getting smaller, soon out of sight.

This vase-
Three times broken within a week

No time for the glue to cure
The pieces shatter and scatter again
Waiting to be picked up and made recognizable
There's a beauty to the parts on their own
but it has no purpose nor function
Useless until healed and made whole
Will it lose balance and fall again?
A loving hand, loses it's grip?
Is it worth putting back together

If it's going to break again?

So this morning, I was sitting in my car in the driveway when my loving mancat Kitten tried to jump in the window on the driver's side... The window was rolled up. He was completely unharmed, and, damn, did I laugh. "That is love," I thought, "wild uncontainable love."

Polly comes by maybe every two weeks or so. I used to have three cats, inside with me. But, my allergies got the best of me, the cats had to go... outside. Polly was the loner of the herd, she was the oldest, the calmest, and the most adventurous. She's also the one who first climbed over the fence around my backyard and adopted the wandering lifestyle of a feral cat. She rarely lets me get close enough to pet her, but often she will talk- I like to imagine she's telling me of all the things she's been doing the last few weeks. I always leave out food and water for the neighborhood cats- since one of them belongs to me- but at one point this summer I was feeding 7 strangers. I'm trying so keep the strangers out, but cats just do whatever they want.