Voting Season

Voting Season

A Poem by Brigid Cooley

I am sitting in the back row of a movie theater, accompanied by a Memory and a Choice.

I realize that, for the first time in a long time, I have stage fright.

It is as though the idea of performing for an audience made up of Roads Not Taken and Recycled Feelings is much more nerve wracking than people.

I have a theory that every boy who reads enjoys reading Poe. I also have a theory that Romeo and Juliet was written by a woman who let her dreams go; it's a shame that play is so overrated.

There is a left hand resting on my side and a beating in my chest that feels familiar and exciting and terrifying, all at the same time.
I am trying to remember how to just be; how to put my overactive brain to sleep.

Anxiety is a constant struggle.

I am trying to decide if I've forgiven too many times; the Bible says 70x7.

I'm no mathematician, but that number seems pretty small.

Recently, they've been telling me life is short; "make the most of it."

Recently, they've been telling me I'm so young; "take your time."

I wonder which one is true and could it possibly be both?

I am a forward thinker; afraid of the unknown.

He is a spread sheet, PowerPoint presentation, logical conversation, follow up with a sweet text and a dopey smile, truthful answer kind of guy.

I am trying to decide if I like answers as much as I think I do; maybe this time, I am the question.

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