the secret’s out

[In 2006, author Rhonda Byrne wrote “The Secret”, a self-help book that sold thirty million copies]

Well, I fell for The Secret.

Fell for it hook, line and sinker.

Saw the author on Winfrey,

So I thought I should read it.

She was anointed by Oprah,

Just like Oprah did to Chopra:

One of those modern day gurus

Now swimming in Gucci.

Oh, you shoulda seen my vision board back then:

Snapshots of wealth from Vanity Fair clippings:

Dinners with Graydon, a couple of Basquiats,

Buckets of ostera consumed on Branson’s yacht.

I’d have lots fancy friends and darn fancy clothes,

And I’d buy all my loved ones big fancy homes.

Surely, they’d love me if I did all of that;

Helped them trade up from their Target door mats.

I’d wake up each day and plan an adventure,

And bring along a few friends just for good measure.

Their eyes would glaze over from all my success,

But I’d be so chill, further proving whose best.

Nearly worked myself to death to make those dreams come true,

Nearly broke my body and mind trying to impress you.

Wanted this life to matter, wanted so badly to be known,

Worked so hard I nearly ended up alone.

Nowadays I use a dry board and multi-colored markers

And draw silly shit like flowers and bright summer sparklers.

The day Koko died, I drew her, too,

Because someday I’d like my hands and eyes to speak love like that to you.

And I’ve drawn a portrait of true John Prine,

Because some day I’d like to master the Great Unwind:

The way he did, through cancer and the rest,

Still willing to put the limits of words to the test.

Still willing to relax into the rhythm and notes,

Just long enough for his heart to come in and fill in the holes.