Tuesday, March 27, 2012


I asked him questions about God

Questions that could not be answered

My questions required faith

Though I seemed to have none

I wanted to know why the world was hurt

Why I was hurt

I told him I didn’t understand

I told him I didn’t like his parables

I even said I wish we were puppets

And it is true – I do

But there was no fire

And no rain

And there were no answers

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Creative Lethargy

So lately it seems that I keep struggling with everything.  I have a huge certification test coming up in 4 weeks that I have known about for months and I have not studied.  At all.  I have 2 or 3 books sitting by my bed that I have been meaning to either read or finish.  Yep--they are still sitting there, and this coming from the girl who loves to read.  Other things, too, like wanting to make really delicious meals for my family.  I know how, want to, but when it gets down to dinner time, what happens?  Mac and cheese.  Or sandwiches.  I know what depression is, I know what it feels like--I have battled it for what seems like my entire adult life, but this is different. 
This feels like lethargy--creative lethargy.  Once again I put easy before trying new things (or old, for that matter!) and tried-and-true before any out of the box ideas.  I am so completely inhibited.  Creatively constipated.  Nice image, huh?  C told me I should take some art classes.  We were discussing my absolute love/obsession with tattoos and he told me I should become a tattoo artist.  I immediately laughed and said, 'I can't draw!  I can't even draw a straight line with a ruler!"  His response was that I could learn.  Take a class here or there...  and you want to know what happened?  For half a second, I actually dreamed.  I actually imagined what taking a class would look like and then I compared myself to every other art student who has been drawing for a lifetime and I threw it away.  I threw that image away.  But do you see it?  Do you see it still lingering? 
I don't know what happened to me.  I feel now like I always do.  But I am saying it out loud.  I feel lost.  Sometimes I don't know why and even the times I think I know, I pretty much go running away.  It is time to stop running.  Ok, so I may never learn to draw straight lines without a ruler and therefore never become Kat Von D, but I can pick up a pen.  Or type a few lines.  I will purposefully set out to fail so that in doing so, I can actually succeed.

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

A Touch of Melancholy

My desire speaks to me
But at a distance, like the moon
I try to find out about myself
From everyone but myself
I feel the spaces are dark, unknown
I think I am scared, scared to want
Scared more, still, to succeed
I look for reassurance 
Soft and sweet-scented like the wind
One day I will know
One day I will see
But tonight, tonight is for dreaming

Friday, March 16, 2012

How do I start?

Most days I do not know what to write or what to say.  My husband says that I am scared to look in my heart.  That it is like peeking under a rock and then running away.  I think I agree with him.  I am afraid, afraid that if I look, nothing will be there.  I have always said there are two kinds of people in the world: those who create art and those who appreciate art.  I have always called myself the latter but it is the artist I wish to be.  They say in order to create you must first be willing to do so poorly.  I feel like I can’t do that.  Or won’t.  I want to create.  I think creating is beautiful.  Therefore whatever it is I might create should be perfect.  But this is all wrong.  I have to learn to wander and linger inside my soul.  I have to listen fiercely to the tiniest of whispers inside myself.  I need to stop relying on feelings—as in the need to FEEL creative before picking up a pen.  I need to immerse myself. I need to try and try and try again.  I read this recently: When do you make the time? They say, and it’s impossible not to. Art is oxygen is faith is sanctuary. This is how I want to be with my writing.  I want to have a voice.  I choose to exercise this voice.  I have to because there is no other way.

Thursday, March 15, 2012

A poem about me...

I have always been
one of the Unfortunate
One who understands
I was part owner and part slave
to the plantation of dreams in my heart
my dissatisfaction was a balm for my wounds
to teach me a lesson
I recognize disturbing behavior but
I belong to the reorganization crew
I like to stand alone, against Time--
Against the only Force strong enough
to knock me down--The Wind
That same wind which would carry
a strand of my hair
to offer a blessing to
the little rat's nest
Likewise, such is that of me
Should a single tear fall
thousands would find shelter in it
An Unfortunate
Grateful despite myself
But I cannot speak to the Raised Voice
the way It speaks to me
I cannot move mountains
nor my own faith
Yet I embrace these concepts--
these acknowledgments--
into my being
for they are me as well
I teach them and they respond well
I learn that I grow
I am passionate
my touch forbidden
due to self restrain and a love
for self justification
I cannot comprehend all that is in me
Cannot express all that I am
I can only be beautiful
and Unfortunate
Tempered by Truth
I sing a language few dream of
I am my own sun
and my own moon
But I would be arrogant
to include the Universe
Still, I am quiet
A foreshadow of the ripples in the pond
I am shadow, a glance, a peace so tranquil
It is lonely
I am a memory
A joy so desperate
Only a wall without a door
can stop me
Most of all
I am a succession of queens
bold and conquering
while martyrs and laughter live in my heart
I am a perception
a reflection
a fear
I am tomorrow
and while I never was Today
I am the connection
a thin line
to a meaningful
"some things but not everythings:
and I am an Unfortunate
Such knowledge is truly
No power at all...