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I don't understand why I only have something to write about when I'm hurting. And yes, of course I'm glad that I'm not hurting, but I'm not glad that I'm not writing. Why can't I write about the good stuff also?

What about the day I walked back to work with Stefania and told her all about the pink otter pop? I told her all about it and how my life is so wonderful right now. Because it is. Think about the life I have. I'm happy. I have a good job. I have great friends. I'm in a relatively healthy and happy relationship. I'm totally busy. I'm respected in work and life. People come to me with their problems and trust me enough to talk to me about their feelings and fears and life.

But it's so much easier for me to write about the hard time. When I did tell Stefania all about the pink popsicle, I compared it to early times in my life when rather than my middle, constant state being so content that merely having a pink popsicle can put a huge smile on my face, my middle, canstant state was of constant tears. I didn't look for excuses to smile, but sought out space to cry and not be judged for it.

My fingers have tensed slightly and my mind is racing with how to describe the cold air hitting the tears and watching the boys run and jump and I ran and I cried...

Why the sadness?

I guess I know that the sadness comes out it in writing because I don't know where else to put it. I don't know how to talk about it or bring it up or feel it. I hide it away and then when it's in me and occuring, I write it out to make it real and to make it go away.

I have to go eat lunch now so I'm ready for my afternoon meetings, but I'll make a conscious effort to keep writing. Not like anyone reads this. Just that I want to be able to know that my identity as writer is intact. To me.

the meaning of the word

Watch me be co-dependent as I walk out your door.
Watch me be co-dependent as I go home and cry in the shower
And live this life I've been living.
I may be sad, but I'm not happy just because you're there.

It may feel better to get a hug
But you do not solve my problems
By wrapping your arms around like an obligation.

I may express my needs,
But in my world, that's what a healthy relationship looks like.
Watch me be co-dependent as I'm happy and single.
Watch me be co-dependent when Stefania hugs me out of love
And doesn't think I owe her something for it.
Watch me be co-dependent as I call Autumn and she gets as much from me
As she gives.
Watch me be co-dependent as I walk out of work in 19 minutes,
Hop on my bike and ride to Sarah's house;
Not because she expects it,
Because she loves me.

Watch me be co-dependent when you call me crying.
Is this about my breakdown?
My one breakdown after going through hell?
You've never been through that, how dare you judge me for my reactions.
I didn't call you first, I called Sarah.

Dictionary.com:
1. Mutually dependent.
2. Of or relating to a relationship in which one person is psychologically dependent in an unhealthy way on someone who is addicted to a drug or self-destructive behavior, such as chronic gambling.



Okay. I took a deep breath. I don't pretend that's a poem, it's just thoughts that deserved their own lines. Jessa called me co-dependent. Fuck her. She also asks me to marry her once or twice a week. She wants me to move in with her. She ...

I keep trying to think about how to solve this and talk about it and be adult and express my needs (although we saw how that went last night when I said I felt insecure and that it feels good to have her hold me and she told me I was smashing her, then sat up and finished putting her shoes on so we could go), but all I go to is proving to her how absolutely not dependent I am on her by leaving. She can fucking call me on Friday, because I have shit to do. I am so sick of working my ass off for this fucking relationship. I mean, yeah, it's good, but jesus christ motherfucker. I have to fucking talk to her about me being co-dependent. Woh projection. And don't get me started on all her crystal bullshit. It's a rock. It only has power because she puts power into it, but she can't even entertain the idea of me being in on that. Co-dependent? Because I don't want her sleeping around? Because I asked for a hug? Because I had a breakdown? Is that why? Even the fucking readers of this blog who are trusted friends don't know what the fuck the breakdown was about, even if they do have an idea, and now I'm getting bullshit for that. I can't fucking stand it. I refuse to allow this woman to continue my insecurities about my emotions being invalid.

Here's what I wrote LAST NIGHT (before she called me at work today and told me that to keep us from having anything to worry about our interactions need to change because I'm co-dependent):

Fuck. It's at home. But it's this whole long thing about how I just want my silence to be enough and I'm working on expressing my needs and that if she refuses to hug me when I ask for it can she at least not invalidate how I'm feeling and blame me for it in an indirect way telling me that I have fucking control over my emotions and that no one can make me feel any certain way unless I let them.

I hate her right now. Maybe this is what true love is like because I'm absolutely fucking enraged. And I know that I come here and write only during the bad times, but FUCK! Have they not been bad enough? What am I doing here? I can be perfectly happy on my own. And if not, I can be as happy as I am now because any problems or issues that I may have are mine and I'm working on them. She's the motherfucker who needs me and uses me for my car and DVD player and cable.

Dudes, I'm pissed. Can it just be nine minutes from now and time for me to go to Sarah's and fucking break the fuck down in anger. And Sarah will let me too.

This is bullshit. Maybe I'll just leave. I'm so outta here. Bye. And maybe bye to her too. Co-dependent my ass. My ass walking out the door. Then we'll see who's co-dependent.

his shoes were too tight

Sometimes I wonder if I'm only with her because it's better than being alone. When I was so sad because of the family and I had the usual I've-been-back-for-two-days breakdown Sarah said she thought it was only because I was alone. I disagree, but I understand why she may have thought that. I am sadder when I'm alone. Or maybe the only times I'm able to truly feel my sadness are when I'm alone. Because how could I express sadness and the feeling of worthlessness and the shit I go through because of the family (and I know I take part) when I'm around other people? People don't want to be around me when I'm like that and I don't particularly want to be around them because all I'll do is pretend so that they don't feel uncomfortable which just makes me feel worse.

The point is, I don't like being alone. I like the external validation Jessa gives me and I like not being alone, and I like her, but...

And then work happened, but I guess I went through the work of writing that paragraph and unfinished sentence, may as well post it. It's the same amount of work as deleting it.

Why do I have a defeated feeling as if I've lost at something?

Thank You Julie Melnyk

As long as we're on the subject of short poems, I would like to share the only iambic monometer poem I've ever heard of, the only monometer--iambic or otherwise--in fact, and the only one my very smart professor who taught it to me had also ever heard.

Fleas

Adam
Had'm.

-Author unknown

Morning Email and My Reaction

I just received this poem and the following “discussion question” in an email from a poet friend. He’s a friend and he’s a poet, but our poetry always has and probably always will differ greatly.



One-Word Poem
by David R. Slavitt

Motherless.



2. It is regrettable not to have a mother. Is the purpose of the poem to
convey an emotion to the reader? Does the poet suppose that this is the
saddest word in the language? Do you agree or disagree? Can you suggest a
sadder word?




I would like to know the person who cannot come up with a sadder word. No, in honesty, I’d like to be that person. I wish I was someone who had the blind faith and love in family that “motherless” could be the saddest word in the entire language. Can you imagine? Does this person truly exist? Is this discussion question written with the intent of making us angry, or sad, or hurt? On that note, is the poem written for that reason? Yes, it’s only one word, but yes, I am a poet, which means I as a reader have as much influence on the meaning of this poem (now that it’s been published and put out into the world) as the poet does himself. If I were to analyze this poem, I would absolutely argue that Slavitt is trying to remind all of us our of our “motherless” lives. Why else would it be so powerful? You, reader of my silly little blog, did you not feel a twinge of sadness within you at reading the poem?

And I guess I must address the question of whether or not this does in fact qualify as a poem. Yes. I’d like to leave it at that, but I will elaborate a little. It seems so simple to me that this is absolutely a poem, and a good one at that, but so many of the other numbered discussion questions (I always find it humorous when numbers are involved with poetry, even when they’re necessary and helpful) dealt with an expected debate of why or why not it is or isn’t. Well, there’s reason number one. If it wasn’t a poem, what would all this talk be about? And, the main reason, it invokes emotion. Not all poems, and not even all good poems, will invoke emotion in everyone, but I find it hard to imagine a person who would not be affected by this poem. Who in the world could walk away from this poem and not think about it as she turned the key in the ignition, or pushed the lobby button in the elevator? And would that person not be questioning why it has affected her? Not that her day has been ruined or an overwhelming sense of sadness has occurred, but that in this world we all live and take part in, family matters. Family is important and even to someone like me who spent the last weekend absolutely tortured in a world I don’t belong in further proving my great dislike for the woman who is my mother, this poem gets in. This poem gets in because it’s an idea and an emotion and an implied question and the future and your fear.

Still though, this doesn’t come close to “the saddest word in the language.” When I first read that question, I scoffed. With a furrowed brow, I almost couldn’t help but say aloud to my computer screen “how about friendless?” And then, with a relaxed with sadness expression, I asked silently to myself “how about loveless?”

A notion which brought me here to my own writing. Because I realized that by asking if “motherless” is the saddest word, the questioner (or questioners all working at a conference table, arguing over where to take this discussion) inherently believes that “motherless” could be synonymous with “loveless”.

I hate them for that. I hate them for being able to make that connection. I have a mother, and I have love, but those two entities are far separated in my world.