Wednesday, April 7, 2010

NO Chameleon

March 25, 1986
Writing as a 23 year old

Sometimes things don't turn out the way you wanted them to but it is good all the same.
Things become clear as time goes by.

(a poem)

walk, illuminate
car, headlight, tail
whistle ear, hair
all but silence.
sidewalk, shoe

I can imagine the apartment I lived in at this time. If the windows were open, I could hear everything going on outside. My bed - a futon - was in a large closet, that had a window that faced the street. I imagine that I was alone, kids asleep, windows open when I wrote this.

(another poem)

I've been deeply wounded
my heart was torn out
I've been hurt before
not like this
I am starting to heal
the pain, not as great
I am not changing
NO Chameleon

I like this poem. I like the tone of it. I like how I am feeling a little bit empowered. I am acknowledging my pain. I am refusing to change who I am. I especially like it in terms of stating that I was not a chameleon - I will not change according to the whims of those around me. That is actually pretty good insight. It surprises me.

 April 1, 1986

(a poem)

Thunderstorm party
cookies and Koolaid
the rain makes us new again.

Aja shut the windows
so the lightening
wouldn't get in and harm us.

bring my trike downstairs
venture outside
to listen for rains.

My dad and I
looking forward to
our own destruction
in the storm clouds.

I see that my haiku for my short film at MCAD had it's beginning in this poem. How sweet to have celebrate a thunderstorm with my children. I tried hard as a parent to make sure that nothing scared my children. I had grown up so frightened by everything. Frightened of crowds, of meeting new people, of going new places - everything! I didn't know that that was the Aspergian in me. My children, two of whom are suspected Aspergians, did grow up fearless - of SOME things - not all. I did the best I could.

As a fingernail biter, I managed to raise three non-fingernail biters (one bites their cuticles - oh well)...

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