Fodder for the fire

I occasionally plan out rants in my head

Minor thoughts of things I wished I said

But there are times when they take control

When they grow past my original plan

Morphing into something that leaves me with dread

Today’s nightmare happened fairly early

I wanted to debate with friends and family

Regarding abortion.

To make it known, I stand for freedom of choice

Because every voice, is worth listening to

But it’s my voice that I wished was silenced

Because it brought with it memories long passed

I thought I got over it, guess I didn’t

Now it’s dark outside and I am covered with fear

He isn’t here, but I can hear him breathing

The hitched sound of a grown man

As he gazes upon an unexpected child

It has been awhile, since I dreamt this dream

But I can feel him breathing, as though he was in me

I just wanted a clean debate

Wanted to talk about something important you see

But here I am laying dark

Trying to convince my beating heart

That the remembered man is not next to me

I taste the loss of control

A bitter innocent and the hint of contempt make it impossible to sleep. Yet she wraps her arms around me and dares to dream while I lay shuffling through nightmares; I’m almost completely devoid of anything else. These nights break me, but she won’t let me shatter. I wonder if this is worth it.

I didn’t get evicted. Mainly because they never showed up like they said they would. For two days, I sat there thinking the worst. Holding this belief that I had not only failed my child but lost us a home, and they never even came to check things out. It makes me wonder if they were just having a bad day when they made that threat. It’s the only reason I can think of as to why they haven’t talked to me about it. I have had no emails or calls, and though I have walked to the office a few times, it hasn’t been mentioned as of it.

So what was with them making those threats? What was with them scaring me? I know that I should probably count my blessings.

I have my home

In a few weeks I will have my job

My daughter is safe and happy, as am I.

So what’s the problem?

Session 1

Imaginary and Revision

When writing poetry it is easy to put pen to paper and let yourself feel. But it doesn’t do your art justice to let that be the product that you share. Take your time and revise. Read what you write out loud. Record yourself if that helps you. Soak in your own words before sharing them. For that is one way you prove your craft true.

I hate revising

Ok lie, I am to lazy to revise my own work. I think it is because I am so focused on writing and getting it out there. I love to share my pieces with others. Spending hours or possibly days going over one poem seems like a waste to me. But after taking this class I see it differently.

Poems that I had previously seen as amazing started to look amateurish. I focused more on the story that I wanted to tell that I lost the ability to actually tell it. You can see that by looking at my work that it is riddled with errors that could have been fixed had I just bothered to read through them.

The funny thing is, I took a class like this before. I never had to revise because my professor never looked for those things. We still critiqued each others work but we weren’t expected to change anything. With this class we are and I am both happy and lost.

Happy because -yay change-

Lost because…I don’t know what I am doing.

I have had this blog for while know and figured that I have grown as a writer when in fact, I have become stagnated by my own inability to accept doing better by my art. The one thing I am passionate about and I showed such disrespect for it because I couldn’t be bothered to edit.

Now I wonder if I can even consider myself a poet. I am clearly not all that talented. This class has showed me that.

I am not going to let that get me down. I am going to do better, even though I am not sure if I can. But this is only session one. We have plenty more to go to see if I can make a difference.

Session 1: I hate revising.

End session notes: But that doesn’t make it less important if a step in the writing process.