Remembering Loneliness and Birthdays
I always wonder what I was thinking about on a certain day in the past. I am bummed when I can't remember, so I have decided to be more diligent in keeping up with my blog. Today, I am thinking about loneliness and what it means to be engulfed by it. I wrote a poem about being invisible a couple of years ago, but I don't have it with me to post. As I was thinking about loneliness, i was reminded of that poem. Maybe I'll try to write another:
loneliness creeps in from the sides
it slams and crams into the cavets of my mind
stumbling, confused i wonder
where is the light, where is my flight
i lift my eyes in search of a repose
but i remain alone with my pain
i lie prone in my loneliness
alone, dying, slowly
Well that seems to capture it. I never realized that this whole process would be such a lonely one. I have a birthday tomorrow, but it doesn't seem very exciting when i am away from every i love. I have decided to treat myself to a dinner, or more importantly a dessert. I was just reading Sandra Cisneros's short story Eleven and the narrator of the story, a young girl, says that no one ever tells you that when you are eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and for, and three, and two, and one. That is genius! The narrator then goes on to say that during those times when you say something stupid or when you feel grown up, but still want to cry, you are feeling when of your younger ages. WOW! To finish with a quote from the story: "Because the way you grow old is kiind of like an onion or like the ring inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one" (6-7).
loneliness creeps in from the sides
it slams and crams into the cavets of my mind
stumbling, confused i wonder
where is the light, where is my flight
i lift my eyes in search of a repose
but i remain alone with my pain
i lie prone in my loneliness
alone, dying, slowly
Well that seems to capture it. I never realized that this whole process would be such a lonely one. I have a birthday tomorrow, but it doesn't seem very exciting when i am away from every i love. I have decided to treat myself to a dinner, or more importantly a dessert. I was just reading Sandra Cisneros's short story Eleven and the narrator of the story, a young girl, says that no one ever tells you that when you are eleven, you're also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and for, and three, and two, and one. That is genius! The narrator then goes on to say that during those times when you say something stupid or when you feel grown up, but still want to cry, you are feeling when of your younger ages. WOW! To finish with a quote from the story: "Because the way you grow old is kiind of like an onion or like the ring inside a tree trunk or like my little wooden dolls that fit one inside the other, each year inside the next one" (6-7).
Comments