when was the last time i wrote a poem
.      that the face of my page is unknown
.      and my pen feels awkward in my fingers?
i’ve been writing but i haven’t written anything
.      for a long, long year

my anguish is no longer personal
and my anger has grown stronger, bigger, meaner
my issues ceased to be mine and became everyone’s
and my ideals have melded with prerogative

even my dog ain’t no best friend
but a puppy in a trash dumpster
is much easier to save than humanity
and much easier to fix than myself
.      tied to a man i tried to love
.      and trapped by his love like an insect in amber

i have things to do today
.   business and dollars
and an urge to start on a book

my last poem — i remember now—
was a love poem

i’m not lonely anymore
but i miss my people, my life
i’m not tired today
but i am weary and achy

i have a manuscript
half ready for nothing
that i haven’t touched
for five months

i’m 20 years old and i’ve stalled in the fast lane of life’s superhighway.

This was written right before getting knocked up with my son.  I knew I needed out, knew I was slowly suffocating, but escape was hard to come by.  The love poem wasn’t for him.  He made sure I rarely had time to myself, let alone the energy to write.  And even less so the opportunity to be out from under his eyes with my own people.  If it weren’t for my baby brother’s insistence that he would not be cut out of my life I would have died.  The isolation an abuser enforces is an intense and near total reality.  I had a puppy.  I’m not really a dog person but I loved that puppy.  He was there and he understood the daily terror I faced.  I didn’t manage to get him out with me.  I don’t know how to make amends to a dog who is probably dead.  It is a case of trusting that all dogs go to heaven and God knows why I had to leave him and will give me a chance to apologize when it is time.  He got me in trouble a lot, he was just a puppy and still learning and always scared.

About m

My ego wants to think I'm a writer but my heart knows I'm just another one of God's Kids who sometimes has words to say. 2 human kids and 3 feline kids call me Mom. Or Mooooooom. Or mewom, depending which you ask. I'm kinda-sorta busy being a student again; this time I signed myself up for a bizarre torture known as Graduate School. Theoretically in 4ish years I'll have earned some more nice letters to put with my name. Let's face it, I'm addicted to learning and probably need rehab to restore me to sanity and remove the obsession to read books. I don't remember what free time is but I think I like to spend it sleeping or playing in the mud on a river bank.
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