“The cold… seeping through my bones… this heat so different from the sun’’. These were the first words I wrote when I had just moved to the Midwest in the US. Coming from a warm climate, where beaches the beckoned, and sun kissed fruits were in abundance … this concept of cold was new and terrifying to me. Not only that but the kids were having a grand time mocking me about my accent ( at this time I thought Pasty Face would have been a welcome escape). My only friend was my battered poetry book. It would hold the words pounding in my head, threatening to escape which would only alienate me from these children. My poetry book fondly named Pandora ( I thought this was funny at the time because it would unleash all my misery on poor unsuspecting souls if opened …lol).
Pandora would become my most faithful listener through the different periods in my life she would constantly be there as an archive of my tumultuous teen years: from first love, to heart break, to feelings of accomplishment after I won first place in the beauty contest… Take that Syliva…. Pandora never failed. She was filled with my yearnings, and thoughts about decisions that I needed to make. The words would come flowing from my heart and into the pen onto paper. It seemed incredulous to me that such emotions that could often be so overwhelming could be caught on paper. Sad to say, Pandora took a back seat when I went to college and became overwhelmed with courses, research, group work and other things much more fun ( college life most definitely the booze killed some of my brain cells… ) I began to fill her less and eventually she was forgotten. (yes, boyfriends will do that to you)
Life Marches On
When I got my first freelance photography job… I was filled with a lot of pent up energy, anxiety and… (Maybe it was the burrito I ate for breakfast that day). For the first time in a while I felt glimmerings of my old self. I rushed home that day and dug up my old friend. She was still there waiting for me patiently and as I flipped through the pages …. I began to feel awakened again… like a giant from a long slumber. I began to scribble words and then I began to feel the rush again… that only poetry could give me. ( this was my fix) As the weeks passed I began to write more even I had a hectic schedule. I made a decision to put aside some hours in the week. It didn’t matter if it was a few minutes before breakfast or on the weekends after washing the dog. I would commit myself to writing my poetry. These words would soothe, revive and motivate me through the days.( they weren’t all eloquent, some were just down right dumb but that’s me)
They would be quirky, haikus, dub poetry or just limericks. I thought if these helped me maybe there was someone out there they could help too. So last week I asked my best friend to listen to some ( I was nervous of course, who wouldn’t be considering that my accent would take over whenever I became nervous, making me even more nervous … the endless cycle lol). My best friend is a tell-you-like-it-is-I-don’t-care-its-the-truth type of person but can be the most compassionate person. She listened and here I am trying to find like-minded people to begin a poetry circle…