The Wrong Side of the Road

Photo Credit: redbubble.com (waitin' for rain)

Photo Credit: redbubble.com (waitin’ for rain)

Ever since

childhood

I’ve wondered

if I am where

I belong.

Isn’t this a

natural feeling?

This

out of place-ness

that hangs on us

like a winter coat,

holding us

back from driving after

what we truly

want?

I’ve been living

in the past

for 11 years,

11 years of feeling

like I’m in the

wrong

space,

town,

life.

My hand feels wrong

holding this

cup,

pressing

these buttons,

caressing this

cheek.

I live my life

like I’m cutting steak

with the wrong hand

or holding the phone

to the wrong ear.

I drive on the

wrong side of

the road,

in the wrong side

of the car.

Strange how

familiarity can become

foreign

and how it begins

to speak in a

different language,

all messy

and confusing

and so difficult to learn.

I always read horoscopes

numerology

astrological musings

that say I am a restless

spirit,

that I never stay put for long.

My feet itch

with the urge to run

from this place where

I’m out of sync,

touch,

time

with everything

except the memory

of you.

 

Daily Writing Prompt–Anachronism

One thought on “The Wrong Side of the Road

  1. Pingback: La Sagrada Família | Ireland, Multiple Sclerosis & Me

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s