shits and solitude

shits and solitude
the clammy body shivers
that come a mili-second before
the human requisite
of taking a shit
i hand a man the unsmoked half
of a camel filter
and rise, shutting myself away
in the small stable room
where i read a few minutes longer
than it takes yesterday’s one meal
to exit my body
enjoying poetry in silence
i stay to read because
he is still in my kitchen
and for a bit i am alone
finally tonight he will be gone
for a few hours
and this poet will have
the aloneness she craves

I always was willing to write about absolutely anything, no mater how mundane or vulgar.  Here I am, seventeen years old and hiding in the bathroom pretending to take a crap in order to have a few minutes All Alone.

Introversion and solitude have long been themes in my life.  It isn’t that I don’t like people, only that I don’t need people and too much people-time leaves me tired and grumpy.  It is critical that I am alone enough to both recharge my social batteries and have a chance to commune with my muse.  Lonely is rarely a problem for me.

Socializing and expectations for interacting may be one of the sexist double-standards I have the biggest problem with.  No one bats an eye when a man wants to be alone to pursue creative endeavors but a girl taking the same privilege is somehow unnatural.  All I want is a room of my own where I can spread out my books and papers and work with no distraction or interruption!

Partners taking it personally when I needed to be alone has been a huge factor in the demise of several relationships.  I do try to be sensitive and kind and give notice and share my feelings and needs, I didn’t just blow them off and disappear selfishly.  But it is generally a huge mistake to try to “read my mood” or to assume it is a personal attack when I go quiet and step into my world of words and ink.

I’ve been known to wake up at 4am or stay up until 2am just to scrape together a few minutes of silence and solitude.

I used to think that the key would be finding a mythical balance point.  Now I am not so sure.  The truth is inspiration and creativity just don’t work on schedule.  I’m increasingly inclined to think flexibility and respect and commitment and security make more sense.  If I am to ever partner up again he will have to be secure enough with himself and God and our relationship to be respectful and flexible about my work and space.  It requires an entirely different level and type of commitment than I have given or received before.  Should I ever be foolish enough to remarry this will be written into our vows somehow and sworn before God.

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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