Writing, and all it’s charms

I graduated, yeah, from a masters program. MFA in creative writing. In all that glory, I find I still don’t have what I need. I still feel lost and/or confused as to how and when I keep writing, and if I am even good enough…will they like it, will it grab anyone, am I the only one who likes my stories? The trials of writing a story or novel can take endless hours, for some. I am one of those. I pound it out when I feel like it, and simmer on it, the story, while I sit around and wait. But, what am I waiting for? To keep the writing going is the hardest part of graduating. My deadline is now on my own regard. I also don’t have a professor looking over my work letting me know what works and what doesn’t. To keep up the writing, the story telling, to share it with the world is not the easiest task.

Perhaps it’s my dialogue about the writing, calling it a task creates a motivational blocker. No, really?

I have to change the narrative, writing is now my art – paid or not – a job that will share my voice. Why I started writing to begin with was for my voice to be heard, you can’t silence me in my art. So, if I feel so strongly about the story and a character’s Why, or How, and their outcome – then why do I feel like the writing is a task? Because when I’m in it, and the character is talking, it is the most enjoyable part of my day. I tell myself to change the narrative, but change it to what?

Change is the only constant format of life, everything else is a crap shoot. So I take the challenge of the change that has been presented with my art. My narrative will be that writing is my art. I do it because I love it, and it’s how I can be heard…but will this change. Yes. I’m sure the doubt will strike me once a day, or more. So, to continue in this forever-changing-world that will trigger doubt, I can embrace the fear, hold it close and turn into fuel, courage, and see the charms in writing, not the task.

The changing narrative will be my challenge. I see this. I know this. Not the writing. The writing will be my charm in life.

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POEM

                             An American by Constitution

OK.
Volunteering to go fight in a war, is hard.

Hard, for the family she leaves behind.
America’s soiled by a single father

Who can’t afford the rent. While a United States
Senator falsifies his Net-worth to the IRS.

Who marches to the beat of plenty?
The CEO who’s holding it, a refugee who needs it, or

A President, who will destroy it. Pro-choice
Between men and women carry different values;

Then you add Black Awareness Day, Christians and Muslims killing each other,
Infidelity among neighbors, prison facilities for alien children…

The list can be made new everyday,
How many pages do I have here?

Now I stand ashamed of myself.
I drank too much wine, and voted too late.

A Poem

Girls:

The joint couldn’t have been any bigger than my first studio apartment.
I entered through a haze of smoke to the innards of a beast’s heart.
Red all around me, with welts of black in form of table tops.
The stage was short in height but ran along the whole of one wall,
The wall of the room which had no windows.

In fact, come to think it,
The whole bit was dark, not a window insight.
The only way out
Is the way you came in.

My feet vibrated along with the base, making my shoes slip on and off
As I walked towards the bar. Metal stools lined up and filled with asses,
Bare asses. Each girl wore a blonde, red, or brown wig—couple of them
Had blue streaks. I found an empty seat and slid into it, next to the blue.

The bartender asked me, “What’s your poison?”
“Bourbon, straight.” I played with a lighter, ran it through my fingers rotating each one.
“Five. Five dollars.” She snapped my money faster than I could think what the change would be out of ten.
“Can I have ones…”
But she already knew and surrendered five crispy, one dollar bills. I snatched them up and handed one back, “Thanks.”

She didn’t say a word, just flipped her black hair off her shoulders
And straightened her Betty Page bangs. Her red and black corset
Pushed up on her body, raising her bust and spilling her cleavage.
Tattoo’s of pin up’s traced her arms, shoulders, and lower back.

Her eyes narrowed.

A Poem

OK, CLICHE RAINBOW

 

Ok, my little something life

exists in a hyperbaric chamber

‘Over The Rainbow’ beckons your pure

love, the crazy and the mortifying. Truly it

is gratingly mindedness, unlike passion,

I fill my boat with ice; I cut out the inanimate obsession

but I light a cigarette and wait

for the Quaaludes.

Betty Crocker destroyed Mary’s truth

when traveling to Luxembourgian.

 

A magnificent cocoon glittering one evening,

connected, hung from the sky, desperate

 

OK, an hour or more deprived of maturity, a

rag doll is transported and this is

my little something life.

Magic hair is wrapping everything

to sleep

listening to the martyred feel happiness.

A diamond under the water

makes life better, embodies suicide.

My little something life hanged

and blackened in the wind. My

armor continued to erode and unriddle

my existence.

Somewhere time progresses and tracing

the night by travelers.

 

Mixed optimism I grow faint, prone to

an empty beachfront wishing well.

The Big 40

I don’t own a car, house, I have no children and never been married. Oh yeah, I am currently without a career too. Am I supposed to have all this by the time I turn 40 years old? Seems like it, the ladies in my workout class have families, careers — they own businesses and homes. I look at them and then look at myself and wonder if I have done it all wrong.

Yesterday I picked up my life partner from work and told him, “I’m having a hard day. I hate my body, my life, the fact I don’t work right now — I don’t know what I want to do, or how to do it, I feel like a loser. An ugly loser.”

He tried to console me, but I sat and sulked anyway. I yelled at him actually to not talk, not say anything to me, to leave me in my cesspool of shit. He did, for a while — but it was dinner time.

“Are we still eating tonight?” he asked. NO matter how low I get, life still proceeds.

As I made dinner I realized that I was being a real bitch. Not so much to my Boo, but to myself. If someone else had told me I was a fat loser, my response would not have been too kind — I would have told them where to go. So why would I allow myself to break my own heart and soul. Because I really don’t hate myself. I have worked so hard to love my life and choices and be kind to my mind, body and soul. Am I really going to let myself down because I don’t compare to these outsider expectations of where I am supposed to be in my life due to age?

I shouldn’t.

I have experienced the kind of life most people only see in the movies, and I have worked hard to get there. I am a beautiful woman inside and out. I am so sorry for letting myself get caught up in the idea that I had to be doing something different associated by some kind of social design.

Today I have been going over my choices, good and not so good, and I am noticing just how cool I am. Not because I do or don’t have things/jobs/kids to show, but because I am learning who I am without the usual outline, and am still solid in my heart’s desires.

I am turning 40 tomorrow, and I have nothing that my bootcamp ladies have, but perhaps I have something they don’t have. And being 40 is just an age, a number to show how long I have been on earth, nothing more. I am as young or as old as I will choose to be, and at 40 I will still wear my converse, ballerina skirts, and crazy hair. I will continue to navigate my life in a way that makes me happy and if society can’t handle it, well, I don’t care. We live in a day where life is what you make it, and the best birthday gift I could give myself is courage and confidence to continue on my path.

I have to admit I am changing, but that’s what happens anyways. Change is the only thing constant in life, so I will embrace my changes hold onto my youth and believe growing old gracefully isn’t a part of my vocabulary — at least not by any modern definition.

Happy Birthday Corrie. I hope the next 40 years are just as exciting, fun, and explorative as the last!!