neurosis: there’s a lot to be said for it

i know i keep disappearing. i was afraid that would happen when i started this blog. but i will always come back, i promise. it’s been a tough week. my aunt passed away and it’s very difficult for my entire family. i was able to spend time with them all this weekend and that is good, i would like to think for everyone.

and even though i’ve missed writing here tremendously, i haven’t really been feeling like writing. but instead of going yet another day without posting anything, i’m going to go back to some of my older work and post it here.

i promise soon i will be posting less recycled poems and more musings. but really, the poems are musings in themselves and even though they are old, they still ring true today. perhaps that means they are timeless. or more likely it means i am just as neurotic now as i was when i wrote them all those years ago.

either way this is an alpha poem that i wrote for an adult creative writing class. we were told to write the letters of the alphabet and use each one to start a word that describe our teenage years. you know, kind of an “a” is for apple, “b” is for boy kind of thing. then, as you probably figured, we were to use each of those words in our poem. of course we were allowed to use other words otherwise to stream then together otherwise the poem would probably not make any sense. although i’m not sure if it will to you anyway even with the extra words. but it does to me. and like i’ve said before, it’s my blog.



Dates – or lack thereof.
I am just one of the guys.
I am the pretty girl’s really really cool friend.

My mom’s black Mercury Marquis
That Jill took one night when we were drinking
and drove in circles – sans license –
not not on her, but nonexistent –
around the parking lot of what used to be something called the Mo-No-Pole (or something like that).

That was right down the road from where Mike used to live.
We lost him shortly thereafter.
It’s the end of the world as we know it.

I’m feeling icky.
I’m kind of fat –
not really, but sometimes eating disorders disagree.
That’s what happens when you are whacked and quirky and stumbling
and terrified by your voracious need to fit in, to be rebellious, to be unique,
to make an impression,
to be something.

I am something.
I am oppressed and lonely
and I have pink hair.
Mom cried when I came home with pink hair.
it would not be the last time she would cry for me,
but I bet some of those other times, she was wishing that it was just pink hair
that she was crying over.

I would give Xena, Warrior Princess, a run for her money
if I wasn’t grounded so much.


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