I recently felt as if I had a lot to say, but not about any particular subject except feminism and cancer. Yet, I was having trouble expressing myself.
Picture feeling a sense of chill just before speaking or even typing an email.
This fear, or as my therapists says, is anxiety linked to PTSD, has been my nemesis for just short of a year. So when I feel it coming on I typically take deep breathes and write.
Words like, cash, ice cream, cherries, carpet, puzzle will just oozed out. Sometimes few expletives will find their way into my train of thought---but it's usually random words that I find myself typing. The best one so far was gongoozle.
I'm sharing this with you, my few readers and the world wide web,
of who knows who, because I think I am falling in love with the idea of writing poetry, again. You see, I started writing poems a few years back,
but with a stress about myself. I couldn't identify then, what I know now to be a person that was ever so careful and crafty about her image and script. No one set this standard except for me. I was at times, very unrealistic and idealistically tied to something unreal; a pretend life of sorts that was 100% not me.
With a new lease on life, I don't want to regret a single word. I want the next 60 years (
yeah, I dream of living to 100) to be glorious and filled with moments where I just let go. As a woman, I am empowered in the notion that I have a voice, just like any other person, and that voice doesn't need to fit a mold.
On that note, here is the last poem I wrote before I was hospitalized last January 2015. I'm posting it because it was almost the start of the new me I met 8 months ago.
January 11, 2015 @ 1:11pm
I started writing today because I was back in our old neighborhood, looking for a room to stay in month to month, much like how our relationship existed——month to month.
I can honestly not believe it.
I see your pictures everywhere and I don’t buy it.
I don’t buy it and I won’t buy it because it’s too much of a show.
Images like this only exist to make one feel like they are something or someone or of the moment.
Life should not be about a picture to look cool within social circles that rely cropped crap.
Life is about living.
Being honest.
Standing up for the truth.
Living in the truth.
So my love hang on to your black and whites and forward facing photos.
Hold on to those because its cold up in these parts and you’ll need something to burn when temperatures drop.
While her claim to fame may be because of her appearance in Broadway's 1959 musical, Once Upon A Mattress, Carol Burnett's place in history, specifically women's history, is in my perspective, untouched. Yes, we have contemporary comedians such as Lena Denhum and Amy Schumer, but they are no Carol, and thankfully never will be.
