Saturday, April 21, 2012

Laughing out Loud

The wow-factor of seeing where I've come after all this time has me laughing out loud with glee as I think of my very first post of its kind that graced these pages.  My heart was giddy with love and excitement, all twitterpated over someone that eventually lost his pizazz - or maybe I just gained some!  I created this space as a means to figure out the Why of what I feel and connect it to the What Next.  Though the relationship that brought all those endorphins to a head is long gone, I still feel grateful for the chance to ride the wave of emotional output to where I am right this very moment.  After that relationship died a quiet death,  I cried, reasoned, justified my way into all sorts of emotionally colorful places. I allowed myself to get angry enough at my words and feelings, wanting to jump into my computer, taking my blog by the jugular and shake out all the hurt so I could begin again.  Just as quickly as the ebb and flow of anger also came the notion to give my words the biggest hug of Gratitude for being there Unconditionally for me when I couldn't be there for myself.
My journal has been a stronghold and critic for my artwork, spokesperson for All.Things.Nancy..and even All.Things.Fancy.Nancy.  My Rock.  I've been so guided to write-and-feel-and-need-and-Thrive that it's so natural to me to have yet another volume of my life to turn a page through.  I remember when the only thing that saved me through one of the most violent periods in my life was my Words.  My journal held me like a blanket and soothed the beast inside that wanted to do due justice to the situation that made me so vacant.  I could only write poems and songs and more poems because I just couldn't mouth the words.  Writing is a common  go-to for me when I experience Loss.  It's like drinking that first sip of tea; you feel the decent down your throat, as it coats and soothes all the bubbling stress and anger, then splashes into that happy place where sadness and pain turn to a thirst for something better.
  I've turned to it when no person place or thing would suffice; my unconditional solace.

I found a heart
a human heart
so empty and alone.
Its form was rather odd, you see
as it was made of stone

I dusted off each ventricle
as if it were a child
that fell from flight and
scuffed up knees
one kiss - then pain was mild

I polished carefully the front
revealing words unspoken
doing right had swallowed life
now bitter, pale and broken
I wondered how
so fragile
a form like this could get
away from beating, caring,
thinking love could make it quit

I wanted to embrace it
to kiss that knee again
to reassure the will to live
and somehow be a friend
but knowing life
like dreamers do
to turn a stone into a rose
could end in only death.

Can we say Morbid?  Well, maybe, but when we were young kids, we didn't know any other way of living better or differently.  Being in the midst of a childhood constantly mistaking pain for love,  a slam into the wall may mean in a twisted, roundabout way that we mattered. 

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