Looking inside

Inner truth is tricky stuff
It’s like trying to read your own future
In leaves, or cards
You interpret things the way you want
But at the risk of telling myself
What I want to hear
I’ll take a shot at it
And try to be honest about the truth
Okay, start with what we know:
I’m an introvert
I love being left to my own devices
Alone to think my own thoughts
Never having to censor myself or
Watch what I say so as not to
Light fires I don’t want to fight
Maybe we all do this
I’m creative, too, and never happier
Than when I am making something
From raw materials, or nothing at all
Out of my head, out of my mind
Yet my sanest moments are purely creative
The word Wicca, apparently, comes from
Roots that mean to bend or move
That’s a little factoid that has lodged itself
In my mind because that’s what
I imagine that I do when I create
Bend the Universe to my will
Make something that nobody has
Ever had before and that changes
Something, somewhere, somehow