I love digging up old pieces of work and revisiting them. Giving them small little make overs and then putting them back where you found them, or dusting it off and showing the world what you have. Something about that as a writer makes me happy.
I found an old poem I wrote about how I knew I was in love with someone. Granted that love has long faded and the guy it was written about is not longer an active part of my life, the poem still made me smile. And that’s what I like about writing and healing, being able to capture a memory that once would have caused me pain if I had read it during the period following the “break up” that I refer to as the Dark Period. But now as I read through it, give it its make over, it just makes me grin, satisfied for those few moments captured in the poem.
The Reasons Why
It’s this secret that I have
The moment I look into your eyes
The walls fall around me.
And you hold me in your arms.
It’s the smile that you share,
so simple and so pure
Yet complicated and obscure.
It’s that little twinkle in your eye
when I say something completely off the wall.
Or the way you brush the hair out of my face
look at me, and how I say
“Stop looking at me”
and secretly hope you wont
And I wonder what you see
your eyes set intently on me
It's how when I am looking at you,
And you ask my why,
I want to respond with
"I’m in love with the way you look,
every feature - freckles and nose,
Fingers and toes."
I just say, “It’s because you looked at me”
It really is a lot more than that
like the way your reddish brown hair flips out
when it’s getting long.
or your blue blue eyes.
It’s the way you kiss me,
when I’m looking up at you
through fallen strands of hair.
And the way your hand touches mine,
that sends tingles down my spine.
It’s cliche I know, but its just how you
hug me and I never want you to let go.
It’s watching your fingers flirting
with strings on your guitar.
And when I have your full attention
It’s that smile I get,
when you think I’m looking
the other direction.
Or the laugh from you when I make that face
And the way your brow wrinkles
when you try and figure out what I’m thinking.
Its how each moment doesn’t last long enough
And leaves me hungering for your touch.
It’s the snapshots I hold in treasure chests.
So to answer that burning question,
this is how I know.
-------
In other news on the Michigan battle front, it's still exactly that. A constant struggle to figure out how to live with my aunt. Trying to figure out what I am going to do with myself and how I will survive unscathed. I am a broken person, this I am fully aware of, but each of the pieces that you find will make up a whole me. The problem is, the way she wants those pieces put together are not me...I'm not sure I want to compromise everything that I am to be everything that someone else wants. Their vision of me, is not my own.
I need to find the reason that answers the question "Why did I move here?" I need to find it, and I need to take that and figure things out. School is not the only reason. Was I reaching out for someone or were there alternative means for leaving? Do I really want to live my life the way things have been going? What can I do to change these things?
And I really have to get myself on a better schedule. Staying up until the wee hours of the morning and then sleeping until 1 PM is probably not the best thing.
Not to mention, my back hates me.. no, it hates my bed.
1 comment:
I remember when you wrote that.
Post a Comment