Travelling, by Britta Benson

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

Here’s a poem I wrote yesterday. I attend an online expressive writing session on Tuesdays, led by Michelle Berberet. The sessions are free and highly enjoyable, as well as inspirational. (https://www.eventbrite.co.uk/e/expressive-writing-zoom-workshop-fall-session-tickets-399661768107?)

This Tuesday writing hour has become a bit of a fixture in my diary. So, here’s what I wrote:

Travelling

It’s what I do.
I’m a full time traveller.
Don’t know where I’m going.
I’m enjoying the journey.
Mostly.

You know what it’s like…
There’s the odd uncomfortable trip,
bumpy roads,
missed connections,
bedbugs,
that dinner from hell,
floors you for three days solid
and when you wake up
you don’t remember a thing
apart from being itchy.

But the joy of new!

Travelling.

It’s what I do.
I’m a full time traveller.
Every day, 
I wake up curious.
I travel light.
Cup of tea, notebook, pencil
and away I go.
No charge for awesomeness.

I cross continents, time zones,
travel forwards, backwards,
my dance moves – legendary.
Well, not quite,
but I’m going places.

This is my journey.
These are my hiccups, my shipwrecks.
Nobody else could have failed
as beautifully as me.

I don’t know where I’m going.
I don’t need to know.
Here and now is quite the destination.

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