My Libra Scales are Broken

So P and I were sitting on the patio Friday night having drinks around the fire pit.  These times always make for good, honest discussion and introspection.  We started talking about our various creative projects-- the ways we like to express ourselves artistically.  And I told him I thought maybe my writing days were over.  I had a good run at it in my twenties, and now maybe I was done.

He asked why I thought I was done.  And I told him I've lost my voice.  And I started to cry.  And I couldn't explain it any further. 

It's like there is an ocean of thoughts swimming around in my mind-- and its full of good stuff, but it all just melds together, like I can't really distinguish one interesting thought from another.  It's just a big, nebulous cloud without specific definition.  And it's hard to pull material from that.  And even when I try, I shut myself down before I even start by censoring myself the way I always do.

So I got to thinking.  I used to have no problem just saying it the way it came into my mind.  I didn't have an audience, or if I did, I surely didn't think about them and what they would think when I was writing.  And then several months ago, whilst having dinner with a good friend, she once again pointed out that sometimes, during that era, I would "make a point just to prove you could make a point".  She was like, "Okay, we get it."  And it occurs to me that I probably haven't really made a point in a very long time.  And being wishy washy, never making strong points, and never cursing (really) just makes for some boring and frustrating writing.  So there's got to be a balance somewhere.  Damnit.  :)

Then I thought some more.  Poetry FLOODED out of me from the time I was eleven til, oh, about 2007.  And then suddenly it stopped.  Someone turned off the word faucet.  Granted, the drama in my life became considerably less that year by moving out of a state that I associated with many bad things in my life, and by settling down and having a happy, healthy marriage-- but still.  Didn't I still have thoughts and observations and emotions and struggles to work out on the page?  Surely I did.  But I was afraid to write them.  Afraid of what P would think if he saw a particularly gritty piece about an ex-lover, or about how confusing it was to have expectations for my life change from party girl who loves to travel to wife living in a suburb, things of that nature.  So I erred on the side of caution.  I shut it down.  But since then, our relationship has matured and I know that I don't have to worry about those kinds of petty things anymore.  He's completely and totally supportive, no matter what the topic.  And yet I stay silent.

So I've decided to try something new.  I'm reintegrating poetry into my life.  But I won't be featuring it on the front page.  In the name of psychological comfort, it'll be neatly buried in a link on this blog.  People can access it any time they wish, but they'll be going there because they want to, not because I've posted it on my front page and plastered on Facebook that HEY LOOK I'VE WRITTEN A NEW POEM COME READ IT!!

So the blog will stay virtually the same as far as I'm concerned.  But the poetry, oh the poetry!  It will be honest.  And it will not be for everyone.  It will be the place I make my points.  Uncensored.  So we'll try this on for size and see how the balance works out.