It’s the day after therapy. I always feel better after meeting with my weekly paid for friendship with a complete stranger. Really, I know that being a therapist is so much more than just listening to someone’s problems, so anyone reading this that is in the mental health industry; don’t get your undies in a bunch. I am so empty and void of any emotion by the time my therapy appointment is here, that it pains me. I can’t wait for the day that everything STOPS hurting; that everything just stops…like that saying, “Stop the world, I want to get off.” I would love to just jump off this bus ride, find a nice sunny & warm place in a park, right next to the water, spread out my blanket, lay down and just breathe…not have anything to worry about, nobody to bitch at me, nobody to ask me to give something of myself and most of all...have nothing to do!!!! Wouldn’t that be nice? (I’m not asking, it a rhetorical questionJ)
So far my journey to “find” myself hasn’t really gone too far. When I began therapy, it was for a completely different reason than what I’m there for now. Although things have become much clearer and I can see the road ahead of me, it doesn’t make it any easier in deciding what road to take as I approach that fork. Left or right? Up or down? In or out? Whisper or scream? Love or fight? Walk or run? With or without? Stay or leave? I don’t know yet…is it wrong just to think about things or is it rude to keep others waiting for the better good? And, further yet, what is the “better good”?
Today is an exciting day for me. It may seem pretty trivial and silly to some of you but to me this is ME coming out of my shell. For those of you who don’t know, I work at a high school. I’m nobody important like a teacher or anyone of an administrative position but sometimes the most insignificant people in a setting like mine have the most impressionable opinions and characters. Today, after writing for myself and showing only a few people (well until I came here in November and shared them) for over 24 years I will stand up in front of several high school English classes and read/perform my poetry. I feel like a fragile, shy and scared teen-age girl all over again.
This week is Writer’s Week and we’ve had the privilege in having several authors, composers and musicians come to the school over the last couple days to present for the kids. I had the opportunity to listen to and watch Mark Smith, the creator of Slam Poetry (www.slampapi.com) on Monday. He was so inspirational and does what he does so very well it was just incredible to watch him. He sparked something inside of me. In listening to him I realized just how alive, writing, listening and sharing poetry, the written word, makes me feel. I know that some of you, especially those who don’t write, won’t share in my appreciation, but I am truly moved. I feel that writing AND performing is my calling.
You see, for many here at the high school I kind of came out of the wood work, so to say, and surprised a few people that I am a writer. I will be the only non-administrative/non-faculty staff member to present. That makes me even more nervous…however, it’s a good nervous. I probably shouldn’t be. My therapist said I should come in and arrange myself comfortably on stage and just read to them from my heart. I plan to do just that.
Well, I’m off to work and make myself useful. I’ll let everyone know later how it goes.I will leave you with the poems I am presenting today...I hope you enjoy them.
Her Obsession
Discipline? No…she knew of none when he was near
Oh, but save for the moments when she slept
She never stopped thinking of him
She never stopped fantasizing
What a monopoly her mind had made
Twisted thoughts and clandestine façade
Caught within the reaches of her mind
Caught with nothing to remedy her angry desire
She stared and he looked away
She watched him with prying eyes
Oblivious to her fascination and what it detained
He walked through the library unaware
Unaware of her; unaware of the danger
She was a mere student and he was her subject
She studied his every move
From the precise length of his stride
To the way he wet his lips before he spoke
She stowed the anguish in her mind; a report of sorts
A relation of lost hope and distorted love
The painful anecdote of her loneliness
A tale of her obsession
The Night
Ribbons of color fill the sky
and all of the clouds hurry by
darkness falls once again
separating now from what was, then
A star or two illuminate above
fashioning what the moon is void of
a warm wind blows through my hair
but all I do is look up and stare
The vast beauty of the night
eaten up by day and all its light
only for it to be reborn anew
making way for the morning dew.
Rain Dance
I want to dance in the rain
Weird? Not the way I see it
feel it
steal it
reel in it…
water soaking my skin
it’s thin
streams fall like tears
its beating taunts my ears
everyone inspects
erects
collects
and soon I am not alone
and the quiet drone
of vehicles passing nearby
they spry
And it continues on
But for now we take this chance
And we dance…
…time stood still and all that was left was the sound of his words dancing upon his tongue. Quietly she listened as he held her against his heart; words chasing the thoughts that spun inside her head. His strong and warm embrace made everything go away; she was trapped in the hush of this perfect moment, yet not struggling to get away. And he made her feel…
…like she was the only one in the room. She felt important once again and at that very moment nothing else mattered but the breath he pushed forward into a sweet melody he sang just for her. And her heart fell into the bliss he created with just a few simple words. And those words, although not his own, made her feel lucky to be held in the arms of such a brilliant man. Feeling his heart pounding, his words caressing her skin, the warmth of his touch and knowing he was hers, just hers, if even just for that one moment; she fell…
…like a single pink petal of a rose into a puddle of rain, rippling as the warmth from his heart found hers and became absolute. The room spun and she was taken by his very presence; and he kissed her. His tender hands held her face close as he gently kissed her to complete this perfect moment. And, again, she fell…
your tender
i find myself thinking of you from time to time
not knowing the reason or the rhyme
only that the you i once knew has gone away
i am lonely left with an emptiness i must defray
mistakes i’ve made may come back to steal
pieces of me that i’ve begun to heal
in all my sorrow and tears i’ve found new ground
where the harmony within my soul resounds
but don’t forget or disregard the love i surrender
as the memory of what we once had is your tender
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