The gum that grows in trees and trickles down bark, that is harvested and chewed, spit out and sticks to shoes, is the very stuff that mimics my life. I race with vitality, burst my confines, am ruminated and masticated by various onlookers and then adhere myself to anyone I feel will carry me to a more advantageous venue. I needn’t apologize for my fluid nature or viscosity. I am just as I should be, always where and what I am, and at the same time, on my way to somewhere and something else.
Make a collage from junk mail
GOOD AS GOLD
Just because I’m as good as gold
Doesn’t mean that I win the prize.
Doesn’t mean I get my way.
Doesn’t mean I gain your heart.
Being ‘extra special sweetness and light girl’
Doesn’t secure my future.
It does prevent me from living my life
as someone I don’t like.
It contents me to keep my own company.
It is a huge improvement over living
as the raging fury I once was.
Any destination I desire is more readily assessable
from this amiable posture;
in spite of inexpert yearning.
I can breathe past you if must be.
Walk down the road holding my own hand
instead of holding a lung full of air.
But I am the treasure.
You must earn me never capture me.
Appreciate me not devalue me.
I’m good as gold.
And please know that I am the prize.
You are reading selections from Sober on the Way to Sane and More Lines From My Life by Sherrie Theriault