Overdue

It's been awhile. I feel the urge to share, to wear my heart on my sleeve and let the whole world see what I am going through. During times like these, I would not hesitate to cry on a bus, or sing in the grocery store, or burst into my apartment screaming but there are also those times I cling to my privacy. I enjoy the personal bubble I live in, and I let others exist in their own bubbles. Occasionally I write something worth reading, and feel prompted to share it. But to simply post it on this blog is not enough. The print is to small to contain the voice I harbor. My secret wish is for a small poetry cafe packed with people like me, who write to cope and read to feel. I have not found a place here like this. I think for now I will stick to my personal bubble.

Fear of Emptiness

Sometimes I worry that I will wake up one day, and all the inspiration I have will be dried up. That somehow, all of it will disappear into thin air. My thoughts, my dreams, my reality.
Much of my poetry is based upon experiences I have, and without those experiences the poetry never would have come to be. I am afraid that I will stop having experiences that compel me to write. Honestly, and this is more frank than I usually am on this blog, I write more during times of pain or suffering in my life. Being compelled to write because of a need for a coping mechanism is much easier than just sitting down and writing when my life is great. I am not sure that the pieces I produce are better when I am emotionally distraught, but the volume of work produced is much greater when I am having a tough time. I guess it could be that it is just easier to be reminded to write when it is an absolute need rather than a pastime. Luckily, I know by now, even though I have not lived for very long(relatively speaking) that life is always hard. Always. That doesn't mean there isn't happiness or sunshine, it just means there are constantly battles to be won and fights to be fought. Which means my silly concern that I will lack inspiration is really just that: silly.

Waiting for Darcy

I am currently snuggled up in my little living room watching my favorite movie, piles of blankets on my lap and the rainy grey day unthreatening from my comfy couch. I love this story. It is perhaps, in my opinion, one of the greatest love stories of all time.
However, it has one fault. Mr. Darcy sets the standard for men far too high. Sure, he has his faults, but the bottom line is that he changes his ways for Elizabeth. In the end, he becomes the man she needs him to be. Until I see this miracle for myself, I have a difficult time believing that real men have this ability to change. The romantic fairytale world that these kinds of stories build give all of us girls too much hope. We end up believing that real world relationships can be like fairytale romances but without the fairytale setting. It doesn't work.
And still, knowing all this, I continue to believe that my Mr. Darcy is somewhere out there, waiting to meet me. One of these days I will come upon this dream man, handsome and conveniently rich. Until then, I will continue to read and reread Pride and Prejudice and nurture my unrealistic romantic notions. I just hope I don't have to deal with too many Wickhams before my Darcy comes along.

Candy Knowledge

Carrying the books
bundled like a small child
I sing softly
the years spread
before me now
like a patient etherized
upon a table
I heard that once
And knew not what it meant
Revelations often appear
at the oddest of times.
These books speak for me now.
Reading, I relive
all that could have been.
Set free the imagination
of that same Free Spirit
I once encountered
long ago.
Silently I scream:
Carpe Diem!