If Opportunity Were A Door
I wouldn’t run through it. I’d stare at the plain white on white, brass knob with a keyhole I might be able to peep through.
I’d stand at the kitchen door, looking at the faux wood planks leading to its ominous-ity and blink a few times at the brightness of the window on its side.
I would shield my heart with two brown hands, crossed over in defiance of the messages of my soul
Hanging in my night clothes at noon, laptop resting on the countertop nearby with windows set on Twitter, Facebook, Pinterest.
Designing my future through clipart pinned from Unsplash and Pixabay.
I’d hold to that safety of my phone in my pocket. Three minutes in I would pull it out to look at a status of someone I knew 5 years back.
I would never knock on it. Hell, I wouldn’t even crawl to it unless there was a predator to my back. A tornado swirling from the south, sirens blaring in warning that I lay in its path.
Here I would be frozen, staring at what could exactly be what I need.
Phone ringing in the distance and someone answering it, saying the other side is Southern France and fine cheeses and orgasms every day at two.
It would be a chance to speak to my dead mother one more time, to tell her I loved her and how no other mom would do.
My published books and speaking tour, friends who vacation with me and hold me accountable when I haven’t taken my self-care into top priority.
I’d stand there, blinking at light too bright fearing that my greatness be on the other side.
Each step taking back my power and divinity, looking like me in jeans and a t-shirt holding coffee under dim light.
Passing books by Poe, embracing notes created by Mozart and reimagined by Ja Rule.
The hallway my passage, my blessing, my truth…
If opportunity were a door, I wouldn’t take it. I’d stand here frozen. Just like you.
