I met someone. He is who I thought I would never find–a best friend, a lover. I am also taking a creative writing class. Thank you, world, for positioning these two things perfectly. ❤ The following is a poem I wrote for class.
It is morning. The sun has not yet crept
through the dark blue curtains.
Before it is even light, he is awake.
I see a dull light from the closet, my cue
to jump into bed with the half awake.
She reaches down to pet me, to assure herself I am there.
He emerges from the crack in the closet door
as a silhouette, shirtless. She peeks from the covers
and smiles the same sweet smile every morning.
As he moves toward the bed, her body turns.
He reaches for me first, patting my head in appreciation.
I feel her muscles tighten in anticipation.
He wraps himself around her and whispers.
Even in the dark I can see his eyes shine,
a shine that was rare before these mornings.
They stare for seconds. They kiss for minutes.
She pulls him closer and he chuckles.
They don’t let go. They need nothing more.
She whispers in his ear, still under the covers,
and protests before time forces him to turn to the door.
We listen as he leaves, her arm around my body.
It is morning. The sun has not yet crept
through the dark blue curtains.
Before it is even light, she is awake.
It is my last semester and I am terrified. My classes are hard, but interesting. I use my job in the communications office to work on my skills as a writer, but I have become unsure of myself. It is not a good feeling. I will have to find a job soon. I’m excited and nervous. I just hope I don’t hate what I choose.
I met a man named Tim. He has a dog and a job and a house. Not that these things matter, but they do. He has made me rethink my near-future goals. A few more years in Cedar Rapids? Sure. Why not? This town needs more young professionals.
My body and mind are tired. My best friend’s mom passed away. Nancy. Nancy was my mom; Nancy was everyone’s mom. She was a strong soul and will be missed by everyone who understood her. She was beautiful. I spent the week in Wisconsin with her family–her five kids. It was beautiful and just what I needed. I came back to Cedar Rapids sad and worn down, but with a new appreciation. For what? I still haven’t figured that out. My past, maybe.
i often write posts and delete them because i’m terrified of what people will assume.
instead, i will leave you with this.
“youth” by daughter.
I feel that getting drunk and barfing your feelings at someone is most acceptable at age 27.
Why 27? Because we’re past our early 20’s–when we get drunk, barf our feelings and cry when those feelings are not reciprocated. At age 27 we have been denied before, so we do not cry. In fact, we laugh. “Oh no, it happened again.”
I am a writer. Those moments of failure are gold for me.
ME: “Sir! I am interested in how fucking beautifully smart you are, but I sexually attracted to you beyond any reasonable amount.” (Notice the missing word? Sometimes I think I intentionally leave words out of sentences when I’m drunk, as to tell the person I am drunk.)
HIM: “Just don’t get too attached…I belong to no one at this point in my life.”
Share situation with friends.
I am writer. Rejection is usual.
It is not unusual for a person to become somebody different during the long months of winter. The gloominess of dead trees and plants mixed with freezing weather and sand-filled snow banks can force even the happiest person into a slump. I was overtaken by winter.
But recently the weather is warmer and my mood has become more lifted than it has been in months. I can walk out of my house without a jacket… sometimes. I can pick a blade of green grass, and I have never been so excited to see the stems of flowers growing out of partially-thawed earth.
Summer is coming. Praise Jesus, summer is coming!
I am not the only person who feels this way.
Saturday morning. The loud “BANG! BANG! BANG!” of somebody knocking on my bedroom window woke me up. I was surprised and yelled in a confused, sleepy voice: “Who is it?!”
“IT’S AMELIA! I brought you coffee and we’re going to the nature center.”
We spent the morning at Indian Creek Nature Center, soaking up sunshine. Amelia climbed a tree, we climbed down the banks onto sandbars in the river, two horses behind a fence said hello… with huge boners. It was the perfect way to begin our post-winter celebration.
Since that day, wonderful things have been happening. Among the list:
A project I’m working on has gotten a lot of attention from the public.
I met a boy who… well… who I hope to see again.
I saw the most amazing singer/song writer last night.
I can only imagine what this summer will be like if it continues on this path.
Remnants of winter remain, but I can feel summer coming.
My windows are open and I couldn’t be more pleased.
I can only imagine myself outside, free like the little animal that I am. Running from yard to yard, house to house with my little squirrel buddies—Amelia, Angela, Amanda and Sean.
I found this quote on the wall of my favorite bar.
Albert Einstein said: “Look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.”
I imagine myself on the lake, hiking through the woods, biking to new places, not remembering how miserable my sense of adventure was in the winter.
This summer—my last true summer—will be perfect.
I wish I could tell my brain what to dream.
Tonight I’d force myself to go back to the moment I won the “frankenped.”
I’d hug everyone to let them know how much I appreciated their endless work.
I wish I hadn’t been so reserved.
I’m still reserved, but I am finally able to show appreciation.
I wish I could go back to so many moments.
Tonight I had dinner with a man whom I used to dream about loving.
Sometimes I wonder if my inability to fall will last forever.
Like Cat vs Human on Facebook.
Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. I seem to be one of the few who don’t mind. Two women in my office discussed how (anxious) it makes them feel. They said their feelings come from past Valentine holidays. I hope I am never able to relate.
I will have a dance party with my cats. I will buy myself a nice meal at a restaurant I would choose if I did have a date. I’ll drink a bottle of wine and probably meet with a single friend or two later in the night.
It’ll be a good day.
Note: I rarely use my blog. This is because, before yesterday, I thought my posts needed to be lengthy and full of opinion. Then I wondered to myself, I have things I want to say — longer than what should be posted on Facebook and Twitter — but where do I say them? My blog. My blog doesn’t need to be anything. My blog is exactly that: mine. So, expect more emails in your inbox and don’t ignore them… I’ve got things to say.
This thought stemmed from a snap that I sent (right). I got a response that was a little snooty and a lot playful, but called me a “hipster ass.” It didn’t bother me — why would it? — but it did make me think. I wonder why people say “hipster” as if being a hipster is a bad thing.
The hipsters of my generation listen to great music, wear rad clothes, drink delicious beer, look amazing in outrageous mustaches, are interested in politics, take over and clean up run-down neighborhoods and value the little things that make life beautiful. Yea, you may find a snobby bunch, but avoid those few and you’ll find the hipsters that deserve and welcome the title.