Poetry Stuff

"And your very flesh shall be a great poem." Walt Whitman

I consider myself to be a bit of an over-sharer. I have this deep desire to be known coupled with a fear of rejection and so I find myself confessing things inappropriately and making random people uncomfortable. I don't mean to do it, but the words leave my lips before that filter sets in and I realize I've said more than is socially acceptable just about the time that the smile drains from the person's face and they quickly change the subject. I remember being in a mom's group after my son was first born. The women liked to swap stories about how they were teaching their infant to talk and how they had mastered the latest technique that insured their baby was sleeping through the night. Then I'd walk in and drop the mic with a "does-anyone-else-want-to-shove-the-baby-off-her-boob-while-he-is-feeding?" Judging my the slack jaws and blank stares, the answer was no, or at least, not that we are willing to admit. 

So imagine my surprise when my confessional word-play made it into this publication. Most of the amazing work featured in this book seems knit together with the kind of creativity and skill that I would only hope to possess, but here I am, pouring my unfiltered history onto page and there is a group of actual people who say they hear me and they like what I say. Wow. I am humbly blown away. To add icing to my cake, another poem  (Beyond the Wall) had been selected for the online publication. Can I just say that after the year I have been walking through, these felt like huge gifts to my psyche? It was inspiring to say the least. I don't know where I go from here but it gave me a bit more fuel for the journey. 

I've included below the poem that was selected for the Moorpark Review as well as the latest poem I've written. 

Reasons I Drink

I drink because life looks a lot different from here than I thought it would.

I drink because I'm twelve years into a promise of forever.

I drink because age and children and choices often make it hard to look in the mirror.

I drink because pillow talk in my thirties includes subjects like mortgages and investments, discipline and responsibility.

I drink because motherhood is a constant confrontation of frustrations, fear and failings.

I drink because my six-year-old's anger is fierce and expressive and allowed, but my rage is bottled and simmering and scary.

I drink because when I was six, I already knew the lustful gaze of a grown man.

I drink because a bomb went off in my seven-year-old life and my home became a war zone.

I drink because shortly after, my father married a younger, prettier version of my mother and while they were happy and she was pissed, I was ripped open and uncovered and alone.

I drink because seven-year-olds are really crappy at triage and so I bandaged myself with insecurity and self-hatred and shame.

I drink because by twelve I was depressed and suicidal and that was really inconvenient for parents who work full-time.

I drink because at 15 I threw away my virginity to a 21-year-old expectant father who liked to fuck me in cars and on couches but mostly in secret.

I drink because my teenage years were spent trading my sexuality as currency, but the price of esteem was too high for my soul so I gambled away what was left of my worth.

I drink because when you feel worthless, you become friends with binges and purges and razorblades.

I drink because at eighteen, a new bomb landed me in an emergency room with a tube of charcoal forced into my throat and a doctor telling me not to throw up. That was a funny thing to say to someone like me.

I drink because that second explosion locked me in the type of place where sharp objects are forbidden, strange women scream words about feces from their wheelchairs, and people you love share their disgust for who you've become.

I drink because I spent years in anonymous meeting halls, but then I found Jesus and got married and had a family and thought that should be enough.

I drink because I don't know the first thing about enough.

The Secret

I am the secret you never want known

Hidden among your closeted bones

Sometimes I rattle, other times I moan

I am the spiral in your web of lies

Lying in wait to catch misfortuned flies

Who soon will discover I am their demise

I am the echo you cannot call back

Haunted footsteps beating a lonely track

I break your silence with a deafening crack

I am the fire producing the smoke

I am the inhale, but you are the choke

Trying to suppress all the words that you spoke

I am the suture into your flesh sewn

I stitch up the cover that you don't want blown

I am the secret you never want known

Stranger Things - One Act Play (Dramatic scene assignment)

A park bench along a pathway. A lamppost and trash bin at stage right of bench. Green grass, trees and shrubbery behind the scene against a backdrop of city scape/tall buildings. Blue sky, warm spring day. A young woman is sitting on stage right of the bench, reading a book.

A man enters from stage left and walks toward the bench.

MAN: (gesturing to the empty space on the bench) Mind if I sit down?

WOMAN: (looks up from her book briefly) No, go ahead.

MAN: (sits and stretches out a bit) Perfect day, right?

WOMAN: (doesn’t look up from her book but rolls her eyes, doesn’t want to talk) Mmm-hmm

MAN: (ignoring her annoyance) My favorite season, Spring. All the fresh air and people walking about.

WOMAN: (adjusts in her seat, keeps reading)

MAN: (glances around for a bit, lights a cigarette)

WOMAN: (notices the smell of the smoke and looks up irritated) I’m sorry, do you mind?

MAN: (confused) What? Oh, would you like one? (offers her the pack)

WOMAN: No I don’t. And I’d appreciate you not smoking either. I don’t like the smell.

MAN: (doesn’t put out the cigarette) Yeah, it’s an unfortunate side effect. I suppose I’ve gotten used 

to it to some degree. They say that happens you know. (takes another drag but blows it the opposite direction)

WOMAN: (annoyed, closes her book and gathers her things to leave)

MAN: (notices the book cover) Hey! Thistles in the Darkness. Good read. What part are you on?

WOMAN: (somewhat flustered) Um, Cairstine just met Niall at the drawbridge.

MAN: Ah, so you haven’t read about the battle yet?

WOMAN: (puts her hand up to silence him) No! Please don’t say anything else! I want to read it for 

myself. (sits back down on the bench)

MAN: (chuckling, takes another drag off the cigarette) I won’t spoil it for you. It’s worth finding out on your own.

WOMAN: (eyeing the man a little more closely now) It seems like an odd choice of book for a guy…

MAN: (speaking with the cigarette pursed in between his lips and reaching into his pocket) Hey, 

there are no rules anymore. If girls can go to war, why can’t dudes enjoy the occasional historical love story?

WOMAN: To each his own I suppose.

MAN: (hands woman a card) I’m just kidding with you. I’m not typically into romance novels. I write reviews for a literary publication, but I’m not that good so I have to read whatever crap comes across my desk. (chuckles) Most of it makes me want to staple my eyelids shut, but occasionally something worthwhile comes my way.

WOMAN: (takes his card, looks at it and sticks it inside the book) Well, thanks for the tip. It’s not always clear which books might give you the urge to self-harm. (sarcastically)

MAN: (chuckles) Very true. Do me a favor. If you do feel the urge, use the card. I can talk you down off the ledge.

WOMAN: (smiles) Good to know, thanks.

MAN: So, what do you do? No, wait. Let me guess. I have an uncanny knack for people and professions. (puts out cigarette and turns towards woman on the bench) Reading on a park bench in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday…casually dressed…comfortable shoes…Ah! Got it! Dog walker.

WOMAN: (laughs) Nice try, but you’re missing one crucial piece of the puzzle there. Do you see a dog anywhere? I’d be the worst dog walker in the entire city if that were the case.

MAN: Hmmm, I guess I missed that little detail. Ok, hang on. Let me try again. (gestures like he’s thinking hard) Oversized Louis Vuitton purse…manicured nails…Independently wealthy socialite?

WOMAN: (laughs harder) Oh boy. I would strongly suggest you do not quit your day job. Not even close!

MAN: (sighs) I guess I’m having an off day. Ok, I give up. What’s your story?

WOMAN: (turns her knees towards him in conversation) I’m a student, actually. Finishing up my Master’s in social work. I don’t normally have manicured nails. I just came from a place. It’s, um, my birthday today actually.

MAN: Ah! Well, Happy Birthday...um…sorry, I didn’t catch your name. (puts out his hand)

WOMAN: (grasps his hand) It’s Leah.

MAN: Happy Birthday Leah. Paul. Nice to meet you.

LEAH: (chuckles) I don’t normally sit on park benches either. (more seriously) I was supposed to meet my husband for lunch but it appears he has been otherwise disposed. I was just killing time.

PAUL: And what is it that your husband does?

LEAH: Good question! (laughs) No, he’s in finance. He works downtown, but with the current economy, there is no such thing as a normal 9 to 5 anymore.

PAUL: Ah, yeah. That makes sense. (stretches out and lights another cigarette) Well, his loss is my gain.

LEAH: (smiles at his complement in spite of herself)

PAUL: So, how long you been married?

LEAH: Uh, about nine years.

PAUL: (whistles) That’s a long time. You must be happy.

LEAH: (uncomfortable, shifts slightly in her seat) It’s not that long, but yeah, I suppose we are happy.

PAUL: Well, don’t sound so convincing. People might think you’re not telling the truth. (winks, takes another drag off the cigarette)

LEAH: (offended) That was rude. You don’t know me.

PAUL: I didn’t mean any offense. I’m sorry. I’m sure you are happy. I…was just thinking what a shame it is that you’re alone on your birthday. I can’t imagine what could possibly keep me away from spending a beautiful day with a beautiful woman is all.

LEAH: (considers leaving but stays put) No. You’re right. I’m sorry. I was wondering the same thing actually. Well, not the beautiful woman part, but the other part about not showing up. The first birthday I had after we got married, he rented a little house on the lake for a weekend. I’m not even sure when the last time we spent an entire day together was.

PAUL: (puffs on his cigarette) Well, it’s a shame. I’ve only spent ten minutes with you and I can assure you that you are quite lovely to be with. (smiles)

LEAH: (laughs) Oh boy. So does that normally work for you? This, ‘flattery will get you everywhere’ approach?

PAUL: It might not get me everywhere, but I do okay. Grandma once told me, (in an exaggerated southern accent) ‘Pauly, looks only go so far, and yours are in short supply. You’re gonna need to figure another way in if you don’t want to be the only one pullin’ on yer pecker.’

LEAH: (laughing) Oh my god! That’s terrible!

PAUL: Yeah, well, classy may not have been her thing, but you can’t say she wasn’t honest.

LEAH: (still laughing) I’m sorry, that’s hilarious…and incredibly messed up!

PAUL: (chuckling) She was married five times so she was well-versed.

LEAH: Oh, man. (shaking her head) So, what about you? Married?

PAUL: Once. A long time ago. She, uh. She got cancer two years into our marriage. Sometimes the 

death in ‘til death do us part’ comes sooner than you’d expect. (leans over his knees, reflective, smoking)

LEAH: (leans closer into Paul, instinctively puts had on his leg) I’m so sorry.

PAUL: (looks down at Leah’s hand)

LEAH: (pulls hand back sheepishly)

PAUL: (adjusts back to his seat on the bench) It’s okay. What can you do? Like I said, it was a lifetime ago.

LEAH: (a long pause) Sometimes I wish my husband would die.

PAUL: (looks at Leah)

LEAH: It’s awful. I know. (runs her hands through her hair) It’s just…this is nothing like I thought it would be. Sometimes I just want to hit the restart button on my life. He’s a good guy. I love him. But when he canceled today, I wasn’t terribly disappointed. (pauses, reflecting then looks at Paul) What kind of marriage is it when you prefer to be alone?

PAUL: (holds her gaze)

LEAH: Oh, god. I’m sorry. I can’t believe I just said that to you! Here you are talking about your dead wife and I just blurt out the most awful response. I should go. (gathers her things to leave)

PAUL: (reaches out to stop her) No! No, stay. It’s okay. (they both settle back on the bench, Paul puts out the cigarette) My wife…I loved her. And losing her so quickly was hard. You know, people want to believe the best of themselves. That they are somehow immune from the terrible things or terrible choices that happen every day. That their marriage will last. That they will always choose the higher road. That those fairy tale fantasies from childhood will somehow manifest into their own happy endings. And I’ve just found that isn’t the case. Jenny never got to the acceptance part of the grief process. She was firmly locked into anger until the moment she died. And who could blame her? Preparing for your own death at the time when you should be preparing for a child’s birth, that just sucks. But the thing is, the closer to the end that she got, the angrier she became. And I don’t know if it’s because I was there or if she resented that I was still going to have the chance to do all the things we hoped to do together, but she was most angry at me. When Jenny finally died, do you want to know what the first thing I felt was? (looks at Leah)

LEAH: What?

PAUL: Relief. Not sadness. Not depression. Certainly not anger. Just relief that it was over and that I wouldn’t have to bear the brunt of her resentment anymore.

LEAH: (leans over and kisses Paul on the lips, pulls back, covering her mouth in shock and stares at him for a moment) I’m, I’m, uh, sorry.

PAUL: I’m not.

LEAH: (leans back in and they kiss again briefly, they separate and sit in silence on the bench for several moments) I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never done anything like that before.

PAUL: (laughs) It’s the sob story. Gets ‘em every time. (winks and nudges Leah with his shoulder)

LEAH: (chuckles)

PAUL: I guess all I was trying to say is that we can live in the fantasy of how we think things should be or how we think we should feel, or we can live in the reality of it. The hard, brutal, often unpleasant truth that life isn’t always what you hoped it would be and people don’t always turn out the way you think they should be. Are you happy? Maybe. Maybe you’re not. But you’re not really going to be able to do anything about it unless you can answer that question honestly for yourself.

LEAH: Well, this birthday may not have gone as planned, but it certainly will be memorable. (laughs) I should probably get going. (gathers her book and purse and turns toward Paul) I’m really glad to have met you Paul. (sticks out her hand)

PAUL: (shakes her hand) Happy Birthday Leah. It was nice to meet you too.

(Leah walks off stage right, Paul lights another cigarette, lights go down)

END

Weekly Word Count

What am I currently working on?
As the end of the end of the semester approaches, I am starting to scramble to wrap up the loose ends I have still left to do. I haven't done a ton of creative writing lately, but I did finish my dramatic scene that is due on Monday. It is a one-act play (my first-ever attempt at a play) about an encounter between two people on a park bench. The woman is initially disinterested and slightly disgusted by the man, but as the conversation unfolds, he ends up bringing exactly the kind of insight she needs in her life.

Word Count: 1875

How do I feel about the process?
Pretty good. I'm glad to have finished something. I have a hard time completing anything, as evidenced by the several stories on this blog I have failed to follow through on.

What am I currently reading/watching?
Still only reading text books and bedtime stories. My son is into Minecraft fan-fiction novels. The writing style is pretty simplistic so I've been paying particular attention to the way the author formulates their sentences and details to see what is required to do something along those lines.
I've run out of free episodes of True Blood, so I can finally stop torturing my eyeballs with that show. I started Transparent, which is an Amazon original series, and I think the story line is really interesting and relevant. The acting is pretty good too. I grew up loving the movie Now and Then, so watching Gabi Hoffman act as an adult is always a bit of a trip. Lastly, I've actually been really inspired by music lately and my latest favorite album is Halsey's Badlands. It's a 'just-let-it-play' type of album, so I would totally recommend it.