Archive for May, 2010

if someone would have told me 20 years ago that it would take me 3 hours to come up with something to write i would not have believed them. i used to write about any and everything. i have a stack of journals from my pre-pubescent years full of things that i now find so trivial. but back then those things made the world go ’round: what i or someone i looked up to was wearing that day. what my mother said we were having for dinner that night and how happy i was all day looking forward to it. what books i’d just ordered from the scholastic catalog.

i had mastered the art of sharing my thoughts. even if it was only with the pages of my black and white composition notebooks. today, i sit in front of a sheet of paper or in front of my laptop, stuck. i rule out every thought that comes to mind to share. i rob it of its importance or relevance with a touch of the delete button.

as we grow older and more bogged down with everyone else’s opinions of us and our work, we develop a tinge of cynicism. we collect doubt and assign it to ourselves even if the people who laid it on us did so in hopes of ridding themselves of it. then nothing is good enough. our art is great to us. but we are sure that that is just because we created it. we convince ourselves that it is trivial in comparison to all else that exists.

then we turn on our tvs and watch reality shows. we turn on our radios and hear trash from talentless people who are getting paid millions for saying nothing. we watch movies that could have been written by a third grader score big bucks in the box office. and even then, we never stop to question why we feel so insecure about the piece of ourselves we battle to share.

the task i am assigning myself is to produce works of art and share them before i can fully talk myself out of it. like now, and the fact that as soon as i finish typing this sentence i am racing to hit the Publish button before my finger slides over the Delete.

perched on my bed. Maxwell is singing about love is not a want/ love is now a need as only he can. in that desperately genuine whisper/whine. the water should be boiling for the rice but i haven’t turned the stove on yet. the kitten i rescued is curled in the crevice of my grandfather’s chair and a cypress bergamot candle is burning slowly, filling the air in my bedroom with a sweet grassy aroma. this ain’t for the war whore. strictly for the lovers only. lost and lonely. my  jasmine green tea is cooling in the mug my brother and sister-in-law gave me when i married. it’s steam rising up away from my aged armoire. one day i’ll fix it. it’s paint is chipped and it’s doors never close right. i gotta shove ‘em. every time. don’t know why i keep trying to force them closed when i know they’ll just open again. one day i’ll fix it. this about a take it day-by-day. this about a wait that’s worth it baby. my husband is on his way home from work. the train never runs fast enough nights like this. when i wait to hear the door announce his return. ever since the way that you looked at me. love is not a want/ love is now a need. whirlwinds of thought chase each other around my mind, none catching. a storm is brewing. even as the sun is beginning to shine. not for the easy/ this ain’t bout that style. there’s an empty tangerine peel on the napkin next to me. it reminds me of the missing pieces and i wonder if those pieces are missing me. i think about happiness. i think about loving it enough to pursue it. through the trenches. with or without all those pieces. to be unafraid of where it may lead you. this is strictly for the lovers only. my tears soak my lap. for the lost and lonely. this is if you want to hold me. i blot them with the napkin and hear the door open.