I wrote a poem the other day. I hesitated to share it, because I was afraid people might worry about me if they read it. And when I wrote it, I wasn’t feeling particularly down but I was thinking of the way I sometimes felt and the words just came to me. And while it is sort of a sad poem, I was actually pleased with the way it came out, and wanted to share it, because, I think other people might also feel this way sometimes.
So, here it is. Trust me, it is NOT a cry for help, just something that came to me. Everything is fine, but I sure appreciate the concern.
I wanted to hope, like hoping kept it alive
Fake it till you make it, they say
But sometimes, hope doesn’t stay
It flits in, with alluring promise
And slinks out, like a sad defeated tide
Tomorrow, I will hope again
I promise, almost meaning it
But for today, I’ll just try not to drown
I used to write rather a lot of poetry, especially during my tortured teenage years. And if you happened to know me back then, and I didn’t seem tortured, well, I was kind of a cheerful tortured soul. My family was falling apart, and I was in love with someone who didn’t love me back. But in spite of those things I still tried very hard to be happy, to smile, in fact, though I didn’t know it then, to “fake it till I made it.” It’s a good creed!
Anyway, I recently went back and read some of those early poems, and let me tell you, most of them are DREADFUL! Maudlin and self-pitying and really, really bad. And I’m not sharing those, they are way too pathetic. But I did find this little treasure, which made me laugh.
On this carpet, people tread
Walking slowly, into a room they dread
They pause at the door to heave a loud sigh
Before entering this room, some would rather die
What is it, you ask, what could be so bad
Is it a funeral parlor, or a home for the mad?
It is neither of those, you have quite failed to guess
The room is a classroom, on the day of a test
I mean, come on! That is a classic! And how about this one?
I’m trying to write a good poemeth, with tis’ and thee’s and thou’s
I guess you have to put them in, they’re all the books allow
A poem’s supposed to tax your brain and make you feel confused
And make you cry “oh why, oh why” are all those dumb things used
I guess I’m not a poet, you can understand what I write
Okay, I’m not a poet, I’ve never been too bright
Maybe someday I’ll be published, for poems you shouldn’t read
And teachers could all point me out
As the unpoetic breed
I’m glad to say I moved past the maudlin teenage years, thank goodness. My family came back together in a different but undoubtedly healthier way. I never stopped loving the boy who didn’t love me back, but learned how to live with that too. And somewhere along the way, in between growing into an adult, working, and basically making a life for myself, I stopped writing poetry. But now, maybe it’s time to start again.
And for now, that’s both the beginning and the end.
(See what I did there?)