Sometimes you just have to admit it hurts...

Preface:  you don’t have to read this if it makes you uncomfortable.

My worst nightmare growing up was that I wouldn’t be able to have children of my own.  For real…I’m not making that up.

All of my closest cousins got pregnant at the same time I was trying…some by accident.  It hurt.  Of course it hurt. I was happy for them and pissed off at the same time.  Because, why not me?  Was I unworthy?

I tried for a lot more years. Never happened. And so I was forced to realize that I was meant for a different path.

And now, at 50, I wholeheartedly believed I had come to terms with my childless status; so a hysterectomy, which my body was demanding, would be a relief, right?

Simple answer is yes, absolutely.  But here are the unexpected cruel realities that came with it…

1.  Everyone talks to you like you are having an appendix removed.  No big deal, right?  Modern medicine is a marvel.  And outwardly, you understand and accept this.  What you’re not allowed to talk about though is that “organ” they are removing holds all of the children you were never able to have and any miracle children you may have been blessed with.  I didn’t lose a child.  I lost all of them.  I always imagined I’d have a daughter that sparkled like magic.  And now I know with absolute certainty that I’ll never see her face full of light.

2.  They put you in the maternity ward to recover.  Sorry for the language, but mindfuck much?  You’re the quiet room. No babies crying there.  No sound at all unless you can hear a heart breaking.

3.  They pump you full of air for the surgery so they have room to work.  When you wake up, your belly looks like you’re 5 months pregnant.  Except you’re not.  You’re literally empty. But you still walk around for weeks holding your belly like there’s something precious inside you that you’re protecting.  Everyone asks you if it hurts, and you don’t know how to answer because it doesn’t hurt the way they mean; but fuck yes, it hurts.

4. It’s time to move past it, because you know, it’s been almost 5 weeks.  Everyone’s forgotten about it already.  But you haven’t.  You never will.  

Look Up

I was without my phone today for two and a half hours, and I learned a lot...

Look Up

I'm sitting in a restaurant  while my phone is being repaired
and I have nothing to do except
look up.
Be in the moment.
Right now.
Here.

Do I even know how to do that anymore?

It scares me --
how uncomfortable I am.

All I have is this pen and this paper.
Things I used to treasure
my time with
but have now forgotten.

Forsaken for a screen of numbness.
Outdated like 8-track,VHS, cassettes, and CDs
for a digital world.

I haven't written for at least a year --
traded my creativity for comfort.

How foolish and complacent for someone
who wants to be a writer.

Look up
the Universe is telling me.

Look up.

Hiking Up Memory Lane

Tonight while searching for my college transcripts, I took an exhausting hike up memory lane.  Yes, "hike up," because whoever penned "walk down memory lane" was clearly delusional.  Sure, I found some marbles along the path, but there were also a lot of rocks, and mud, and unidentifiable sludge slides.  It is definitely travel not meant for the weak and weary.  In the end, though, it was a lot like participating in boot camp at the gym...with every station you think you might just die.  You hate it, you want to kill the trainers, you question "why?" repeatedly.  And then suddenly...you're done.  You made it.  And despite all the horror that you felt while going through it, you feel happy.  Because, well, you're a survivor.

I found a lot of my old poetry and thought I'd share a couple.  I'll spare you the deep, dark, scary stuff of my previously tortured self, and share just two that are not great but also not going to get me committed (cough, cough). Despite how frightening it can be to read into your past soul, it's also very enlightening.  I can't post any of the photos I found because my life has been threatened by several people (including myself) if I do.  So, here ya go...a couple of old poems (written exactly as I wrote them):

"change of address"

to whom it may concern:

i am writing to inform you of my not-so-recent

change of address.

it seems you have lost track of me,

much to my dismay,

and i would like to correct this situation

as soon as possible.

as with other 

unseen

magical

extraordinary

beings such as yourself

(i.e., santa, the tooth fairy, the easter bunny, and those little sock-stealing elves)

i thought my move would be automatically registered in your system.

after all, santa never lost me,

and we moved all over the damn place.

however, since you seem to be working off of

some antiquated tracking system,

i would like to manually provide you

with my current whereabouts

(please see the address at the top of the page).

i sincerely hope that you will see to 

correcting this situation

as soon as possible

as i am without hope

or inspiration

or any such thing

and have been since my relocation.

please consider this an emergency

and send my muse to me

at the correct location

as soon as possible.

yours in considerable distress,

a former writer extraordinaire

~~~

"Caterpillar"

There are so many reasons 

to turn around

and only a few 

to step forward

I am safe here

in this cocoon

but it's been too long now

and metamorphosis

has not occurred

Maybe I'm just not meant to be

a butterfly

So be it

Caterpillars cannot fly

but they can crawl anywhere.

~~~

And there you have it.  Some selfies I took along the hike up.

~peace

p.s.  a note after the post...there were a lot of shiny marbles, and I'm happy to have the memories I do.  They made me the phenomenal person I am today!

Sigh

I don't want perfection
I don't want Prince Charming.

I just want a sigh of relief.

Someone who looks at my ugly morning self in my sweatpants...unshowered, unshaven, no makeup, and still wants to kiss me even though I haven't yet brushed my teeth.

That. Just that.

Writing Assignment #1: The Window

So as part of my self-imposed "Be Brave and Love the Fear" campaign, I'm going to share my assignments.  I need to learn how to share without fear.  For this first assignment, all we were given was a title..."The Window."  We had to write prose (not poetry, which would have been easier for me) in less than 500 words.  I'm not going to lie, it was hard. I don't love it, but I don't hate it either.  Anyway, here it is in all it's naked glory...or not.  Not looking for praise, just the courage to let it go.

--------------------

The Window

The teacup scalded my fingers as I wrapped them around it, but it was better than the frigid air that hammered on them.  I could go inside the café, but it suffocates me to be inside with all those other people.  You know, the normal ones who know how to be warm and cozy with each other.  I released one hand to pull my scarf up to my chin and then brought the cup to my nose to let the steam warm my face.

I admired the font of “Le Mot Juste” sketched across the café window and glanced inside to scan the booths of patrons.  A lonely man, who may or may not be homeless; the waitress in her candy-striped dress, a blazing red smile painted across her face;  a woman dragging a child off the table away from the syrup; the lovers in the corner gazing hopeful into each other’s eyes. 

The lovers. 

He had his hand atop hers with her pinky intertwined with his.  She caressed his cheek and ran her thumb across his lips.  They kissed and a smile escaped across her face. Her face was simple and plain, but she was beautiful. 

For a moment I loathed them.  And then I pitied them, for surely this wouldn’t last.  Hurt was bound to show up.  Poor things.  But as I took a sip of tea, the burn that assaulted my tongue caused my eyes to well up with tears.  And then I found myself crying.  Crying of all things!

I quickly wiped the tears from my cheeks.  Ridiculous.  I looked away from the window and wrapped my hands back around my cup of warmth, staring into it to get back to myself.  “I prefer to be alone,” I preached to no one and motioned for Miss Ruby Red Lips to bring me the check. 

She shivered a bit as she walked out the door, but she smiled (of course, she did) and bent over toward my face.

“A gentleman inside took care of your check,” she said, “and he asked me to give you this.”  She handed me a napkin with some scribble on it.  She smiled again, and this time, she looked impossibly sweet.

I looked down at the napkin.  It read: “You are too beautiful to be crying.  I wish you might come inside sometime.” 

Confused, I looked up and gazed through the window.  Same people…the waitress, the mother now grasping pieces of pancake from her son’s fingers, the lovers, and the lonely man who was putting on his coat.

He turned toward the window, brushed his fingers along the tip of his hat, and walked out toward the back door.

My cheeks blushed hot against the cold wind. 

Love?

I’m trying to write about love

And not be cynical

or cruel

or jaded.

But love is not always patient.

Love is not always kind.

Love can suck.

It’s of precarious nature

to hand your heart over

To another.

Because

Heartaches are tantamount

To taking a sword through your chest.

But then there’s this…

Sometimes love sends you to the stars

And sails you around the moon

In an everlasting dream

Singing lullabies

To those heartaches

Putting them to sleep

Once and for all.

And you can finally rest peacefully

believing with your whole heart that

Love is patient.

Love is kind.

And can be forever.

Believe. 

Because

Because some day you’re walking down the street and you see someone in love struggling to tell the person that they love that they love them.

Because you’re cynical and don’t believe.

Because you dismiss it.

Because you can’t help yourself but want to believe it. 

Because you walk on by and pretend it’s not happening.

Because you thought you could.

Because you just can’t.

Because you stop and say "tell her"

Because you have to

And he does, and she kisses him.

Because you took a chance.

Because what if you didn't?