I am at a point in my life where I look back upon my words with envy. Those fiercely written poems of shameless passion and fiery feline deliveries of perspective unique to the naïveté of youth.
I find myself consistently jaded and disillusioned with the world, and that is reflected in my lapse of attention to my blog and writing overall.
I am raising a toddler which accounts for much of my time, but honestly, my lack of contributions to this page of late has nothing to do with Simon, that is just a lame excuse. I refuse to attribute my lack of writing to my son, because honestly, he has taught me the greatest lessons imaginable which are worthy of pages in poetry and wisdom.
No, the fault lies in myself.
Writing was always a retreat for me, a self-indulgent reprieve from black and white lines of reality, where all could be ONE with a few clever contortions of metaphor.
I find it hard to be there truly in my personal head space while shit is hitting the fan all around me, and I cannot seem to let this shit shit roll off my back like water from a duck- because damnit- this is not fucking pond water it is all the things that made me remotely proud to be an American methodically trampled upon by narrow minded sadistic ego crazed muther fuckers who are now running this country and representing me and my country to the world. Breath. Sigh. No hysterics. I’m backing off. Breath….
what I want to say to you my friends, those poets of mine who are now by this point the only readers to this pathetic artistic outlet once known as the Memory Of Trees, where wind through pages made a rustling of boughs in the wind and warm moss once went questing between bare toes, this blog, this woman, loves you dearly. Those of you who write, I love you I read you and I rely on you. Please don’t give up on me. Your poetry in my inbox keeps me loving, reminds me of those beautiful people out there being themselves with riteous beauty, holds me close when I feel too far away… please stay with me, bear with me, I know I have not given so freely with my words of late, but yours are my sustenance.
Please perservere. Thank you, Aloha, and Ayah to you my sweet peas. You are beautiful.