The Teenage Poet

Maybe I should explain myself.  I've gotten 8 page views (5 may be from me!) so someone may have read something I've written.  It's time to explain.

I was once a teenage poet.  I still wrote in my early twenties when the world was all about me in my own mind, and I called myself a WRITER.  Now, I've known so many "writers" from my generation (X), that I feel like a fraud if I join their ranks.  Because they are frauds. 

I put some poems on Facebook after my first divorce.  It's how all the "writers" use Facebook now.  To be seen.  I surprise myself that I could not do it ever again because I still retain the teenage poet I was, desperate to be heard.  It's much too easy now.  It feels like cheating.  I sometimes think I understand Emily Dickinson most of all.  I want to be heard but not seen. 

I don't know if it's possible now to make good sense or to write well.  There's so much to feel all at once in the aftermath of my second husband.  Layers.  I just need it to go somewhere  I'll do better at blogging when it unravels itself. 

Just Days

I'm a teacher so I've decided to blog anonymously.

Writing has always helped.  I need that now.  I need it all out of my head.  I want someone to know.  And no one to know.  So maybe the teacher thing is just a good excuse.

I've shut down all my social media pages because I can't see the "unfriends" right now, or maybe ever again.  The very day #2 left, his sister and her kid (former nephew, I guess :( ) unfriended me IMMEDIATELY, and it crushed me.  A big swift kick while I was already down.  I couldn't bear that heartache again.  His leaving was oh so very much...sometimes now I'll hear a great big CRACK in my dreams like the world was hit by another planet suddenly and without warning.  I think its the aftershocks of that morning when he left.  I've got enough to work through without Facebook's help.  But some part of me wants to document this incredible mess I've made/the mess that his actual running away from our marriage has caused.  

I counted days for awhile.  I thought about what I would write on day 1, day 2, day, 24, the longest we had ever been apart...but the best I could do was get through those days and focus on my poor children who lost so much, too.  Right now, it's about a month and a half in.  Enough time has passed that I don't know it in days now exactly.  Time has its peculiar medicine.  I thought I would have to count the days for much longer than I did.

But here I am now.  This is how I choose to write my story.  I am a single mom of a preteen and a teenager and a school teacher, but I am going to do my best to devote a little time here everyday to put the pieces back together and to call his bluff.  He broke my life, but I will remake myself better than I was with him.  Little by little, day by day.