Finally Writing

This day has become another two-fer, a day when one entry was not enough.  Can you become addicted to the writing?  Does having a small audience create a monster who thinks every load of laundry, every conversation should be documented, described, examined?  I don’t think that is happening here.  I think I am just giving in to my natural tendency.  I know that I should have done it long ago.  

I have a lifetime of unwritten words to place here.  Not just here.  I can carry them around in my pockets and scatter them wherever I go, leaving a trail like Hansel and Gretel.  If I follow them backwards maybe I will be a child again, and make a different choice.  I could choose to have faith in my desire and follow my heart, and be a writer.  I could choose to ignore the adults who cautioned me that I could never support myself as a writer.  I might seek out writers and make them my friends and mentors.  I might follow the childhood stories of my friends’ escapades with essays exploring my thinking and then tales describing my life, once I had one. 

I would have been a healthier teen with writing.  There was no way to express myself in my household without being told my ideas were incomprehensible, stupid and crazy.  But there was also no safe, hidden way to put those ideas on paper, write them down and release the emotions that accompanied them.  I grew up without hiding places or privacy.  There was no keyboard that led to a password-protected, encrypted vault where my words could disappear onto a disk or chip and be secret.  The words gathered in my brain and were extruded in acts of violence;  I hurt myself to shed the words and feelings. 

I am entering a poetry contest at Interweave Knits this week. 

They have a list of words that you can draw from to create your poem.  The words are about fiber arts.  My poem is about love.  Interesting to see what particular words evoke in us.  For instance, I hear these lyrics as the last love song.  Written by Tracy Chapman, this is the song that you sing to your last love, the one you are with in your rocking chair days.    And maybe it is also your first real love.

Tracy Chapman I Am Yours (If You Are Mine) 

When all my hopes and dreams
Have been betrayed
I stand before you
My hands are empty
I am yours
If you are mine
When I fall and stumble
Flat on my face
When I’m shamed and humbled
In disgrace
I am yours
If you are mine
When voices call me
To question my faith
When misperception
Taints my love with hate
I am yours
If you are mine
When time decides
It won’t stop for me
When the hawks and vultures
Are circling
I am yours
If you are mine

Tracy Chapman I Am Yours

Peace.  Peace.


3 Responses

  1. Thank you for finally starting to write! Have fun!

  2. Wow! This is great the writer inside coming out so to speak…I checked the website and I can’t wait to read your poem. I love how you express yourself. I knew an author was there! Be free and enjoy the journey.

  3. Yes, it’s me again…I love the lyrics by Tracy Chapman “I Am Yours” I had to read it at least twice…deep!

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