I wrote my first poem in class when I was eight years old. I was given an award that day, and I was happier than I had ever been. Yet I did not write another poem until I was eleven or twelve, I do not recollect why other than that is when I began living my own life.
Having been writing for over twenty seven years now, always for my own personal diary or to vent my frustrations, I have come to realize the truths between what we feel and how we express them. Although we all wish to maintain a happy life, I tend to lean away from it a little further than others. Happiness always leads us back to Sorrow, and her raw emotions built by failures and fears. And each one of us has our own rituals for healing during these times so we can move on. That is where my poetry comes in to my life. Not during the happiest of times or the moments of peace and tranquility, but during those times when I feel unsure or uneasy from something yet unknown or a situation I have chosen to ignore. A painful, sad or even angry time when I have no way to express myself without it always brings an urgency to get away and alone and to write without thinking. Where pen to paper flows out word by word, until the last and final stroke of the pen. And I have no idea what I have written until I am done, and sit back and read it myself. Those poems are the deepest of them all, even to me. And it forever marks my memory with its presence.
Looking back over these years and the defining moments of my life, which were the difficult and painful ones at the moment, those where the moments when wisdom was learned and I gained another part of myself through my experience. That is what I write of, experience in life’s unpredictable changes. Important and hard decisions are the most painful of all, but the pain and endurance before we make the choice is more damaging than taking the leap of faith in ourselves. I do not prepare for a storm ahead, although I know it lies ahead, for fear of the unknown on the other side. Heading in to the sorrow we are defeated by unprepared for what we cannot face.
I wrote these for myself and shared only a few over the years. And always received great reviews from friends and colleagues with the suggestion of one day publishing them. And honestly, I still casually commented that I was going to publish some up until the day I submitted my manuscript. The only real reason it was created and submitted was because my boyfriend had heard me say it over and over again, that I want to submit them. So one evening after I said those words, he told me I would never do it, because I am an active procrastinator. It brought on a heated discussion that did not leave me with much evidence that he was wrong. I stayed up all night that night and I typed, copied and pasted, reviewed and created a manuscript to submit. I submitted them to several publishers. I had proved him wrong, and that was the motivator for my book. I heard from my publisher and had a signed contract within three months. I have many more, including short stories and erotic poetry, and I even had a fairly good outline and storyline for a novel that I call ‘The Compound’. But have put all of it on hold to complete another item of unfinished business, and dream since I was young. Attending college to complete my Bachelors in Psychology and I have decided to continue from there to my Masters. I will be almost forty by then, my children will be moving on with their lives, and somehow I know this is where the best years of living will come and shine their light on me at last.