pantoum to **

pantoum to **
damn you (i condemn you)
for having been so perfect.
now i feel (bitterness)
nothing at all.

for having fit so perfect
with your brown poet’s eyes,
nothing at all
happens in my mind tonight.

with your brown poet’s eyes
looking eternal from yesterday
and opening in my mind tonight
absorbing my awareness.

looking eternal from yesterday
damn you (i need you).
absorbing my awareness
all i feel. gone.

So how did I deal with the raw grief and roller coaster emotions after we broke up?  I turned it into poetry, of course.  And over the next year I stayed busy and took all the pain out on paper and it ebbed away.  This was from fairly early on in that process.  One of the great benefits of writing is not having to carry it all inside.  It’s out and more easily dealt with.  I am a huge fan of the potential of art to express emotions.  It can take the ugliest life can deal and turn it into something useful and positive.  Nothing is so horrible I can’t make use of it.  Someday I want to have nothing to write about but kittens and flowers, kisses and walks by the river, God and love.  Until then I’ll keep churning out the twisted stuff.  Much preferable to write twisted poetry than live trapped and suffocating.  I suspect that my ten years not writing much is a huge part of my decline into more and more insane thinking.  I started to hold onto things and keep them running circles between my ears.  The break in that when I wrote all the earliest posts here was beautiful.  And then I quit writing almost entirely and rapidly deteriorated.

I am a little puzzled at how I managed to call that relationship a perfect fit when I wrote this.  It most certainly wasn’t.  Perhaps it is that I was still very close to it at the time and hadn’t gotten the perspective to see all the problems for what they were.  Oh well, it’s still an interesting poem.

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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