Going Home 

I’ve been AWOL lately. I’ve been a bad poet and an even worse writer. Not because the product is crap but because there is no product. I haven’t burned the midnight oil in months. I haven’t sat in front of the laptop or notebook or a napkin in longer than I care to admit. I’ve starved my Wild Woman because of happiness. 

Now I know that sounds strange. So strange in fact that I didn’t recognize what the “issue” was until I was more than halfway through Clarissa Pinkola Estes’ masterpiece, “Woman Who Run With Wolves: Myths and Stories of the Wild Woman Archetype”. I’m happy. I’m changing. And it’s overwhelming. No matter the positive implications it’s effecting my craft negatively. I’ve been too long gone from my home. My soul home. My inner wolf. I’ve starved the beast and now it demands retribution. And this is it. This right here. Me writing and telling the world (what little part of the world cares) that I’m going home. 

Please don’t take that too literal. I’m not boarding a plane, train or automobile. No, I’m hardly moving at all. Instead I’m going to crawl under the covers, turn on the lamp and allow myself to feel. 

I need to recognize the change stirring within me and accept all the implications: big and little. Only then will I be able to become the creative individual I know I am. The individual my soul demands. 

Until then, farewell. I’ll be back with wise words for you soon. If not wise, maybe just words. 

-A Fellow Outcast 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Misfit Tales 

Image
We went live on Amazon this morning and my pride hasn’t faltered once. Every poem in this collection is more real than all the ones in the collection before. And dammit they were real, but my poems, my collections, my books they are growing with me. 
Read more

Twinkle Twinkle 

Image
“THINGS WE DON’T TALK ABOUT” There’s days I can feel it coming. It’s a shiver down my spine, goosebumps on my arms. It’s the knowledge that I’m being watched. Stalked. Tracked. And I think because I know it’s coming, I know that it’s waiting for that moment of sudden, expected vulnerability, that I am safe. But it is more patient than I. More aware that the time will come. It always does.  Then there’s days I don’t feel anything at all. There are no shivers, no pleasures, no pains. It hits me like a train and then nothing. Unspeakable pain then stars, blackness, blankness, a void I know I’m supposed to fill. But can’t. Because it’s come. It always does.  Then there’s days like today. It’s eleven o’clock and I can’t drag my sorry ass out of bed. I don’t want to. It seems painfully pointless. The lights too bright. Shut the blinds. Lie back down. Don’t write. Don’t read. Don’t reach out. It’s here. It always is. 
Read more

Lollipop Smiles 

Image
I’m feeling this a lot lately. Hence the lack of posts. I’m in my head and in my heart and not in it with anybody. I can’t seem to think straight or feel straight or talk straight. It’s all a jumbled mess and I miss home. And I’m not happy and so I’m being honest. My smile is brittle. It is candy. Wasting away for our satisfaction.  “I look in the mirror and I do not know myself. It seems I haven’t for awhile now. If I ever did. I smile. It seems brittle, like a dying lollipop between eager teeth. There are no crows feet. No tiny little lines that say “this is real, I am happy”. Because I don’t think I am. But I can’t be sure. My mask, mass produced, has been on too long for me to notice the nuances of my emotions. I can hardly tell a grimace from a grin anymore.”
Read more