The raw form of a poem isn't something I usually share, but I felt like this might help people with revising and editing.
The actual poem itself (you may read Variation 25 here)was randomly woven together from the
It would actually be interesting to see what lines you would have chosen to weave together!
I would rather drink coffee and eat chocolate bars than write about this, here, at 9:19 in the morning.
I need to capture with words what I felt this morning, what it was that drove me to being so ready to just let go, to just succumb to your luke warm status. To agree with your earlier laments that “this” wasn’t going anywhere in the future so why invest more time in it now.
It seems as soon as I felt that, as soon as I said, “You don’t have to get up, just stay there,” that you got up to walk me to the door. Your kiss actually felt like you cared instead of my lips meeting yours practically begging for some form of response.
No lights on for me, flashlight from my cell phone lit the way as I dressed in the dark.
I didn’t feel as if I had it in me anymore, not right now, to fight a one sided battle to save our love while you were so busy running around shouting “my sky is falling, my sky is falling,” never seeming concerned if anyone else had a cloudy sky or a thunder storm or a drought in our sky.
You stopped letting me love you unless your maleness was pushing inside me, deep, and I was surrendering to your power.
If I wanted you sexually, you were happy, if I was offering to come alongside you, you push away.
I want to call a time out, I realize.
I want to give you space to decide what you want and what you don’t want.
We can try it a week at a time, revisit and decide again – longer? Shorter? Return to the way we’ve been only better?
My fingers stop moving, spent.
These last few chapters have been erattic and unmappable. That isn’t a word. Colonial Surveyors wouldn’t be able to tell where the stops and starts were, where dangers lurked, where sunshine would find her way through.
You warned me long ago you were not an easy person to love.
Maybe I am finally choosing to agree with you.
Let you prove to yourself once again just how unloveable you actually are.
Let me find my way, differently, without leaving your rubbish in my gutter, for my trash man to take away when I just refuse to do it. Not anymore.
Is there enough here to pluck out for a poem? Are there enough words and phrases and catchy tones to do something with them? I think, possibly…. I will soak through the words to see which ones are flammable and which ones are soggy and which ones hum contentedly on the page, flirting and waiting for me to see the possibilities.
More words, threadworn.
More words, electric
More words, satin, lace and polyester
I remember my first unhappy-but-in-love poems
I used fabric metaphors
I will I still had a copy
There was a time I could almost recite it
Must be around the time we went to
A darkened coffee house in Stockton
Where there was some form of attempt at
Performance. Mel’s friend whose name I have forgotten
Had a boyfriend who smoulder (after the blaze coal look about him and played acoustic guitar
I vaguely recall it. Just vaguely.
But I do recall it outside the many other
Nights I spent out with friends in Stockton,
A few strange ones remain.
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© 2012 by Julie Jordan Scott
Julie Jordan Scott has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS & this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she finds the passion & the interest.
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