Although I would consider this website a creative endeavor, it being one of few creative outlets I have been able to successfully maintain while both working and schooling in large amounts before and since the genesis of this site, I have not thus far used this site as a host for the other forms of creative writing in which I currently, but mostly sporadically, dabble.

Today I decided I would. Because I can. And because the proceeding poem, although not originally written for the situation of which it has recently become reflective, seems to clearly express my thoughts and feelings on the recent ending of a relationship in which I myself became fully invested. A relationship which ultimately stretched me, and pulled me, and made me realize what I want and what I do not want, with regard to both the many aspects present within an intimate, loving relationship, and within myself.

And while today it would appear from all recent conversations, outward appearances, and actions, that I alone occupy the role of “the heartbroken one,” as of this moment that is an honest reflection of my heart–a part of me is most sincerely broken–and being such, as much as I hate to admit my own personal pain and loss in this not so pleasing situation, because in our culture admitting feelings of pain, insecurity, and heartfelt attachment remain so often synonymous with the wholly unpleasant idea of “weakness,” I am finding myself more and more ok with being that person.

I am ok with being that person because, while I certainly am not holding myself blameless or my behavior flawless within this relationship, it means I did at some point in fact transcend my doubts and fears–both pre-established and newly created–enough to trust this man. I am ok with being that person because it means I believed in him, and I believed in us, and I believed in hoping and striving and holding on, even when perhaps by all accounts I should not have believed. But most importantly, I am ok with being that person because it is real, and it is me. And what I am coming to realize is that both of those things remain nothing of which I should be ashamed.

I Tried To Fix You, Shattered As I Was

my razor sharp edges
imbedding themselves
in the formidable grin
you use to cover your
affinity for failing. Flailing

arms and legs
knocked me unconscious,
turned graven wooden
images of you
into fine ashen powder
I wanted to wear like second skin. It was you

who threw the match
on the haystack
where we were hiding
to show each other our secret places, our
sexy spaces. I missed

the sunken silhouette of you
sulking away from the barn

too captivated
by a puddle sitting by my feet,

its slowly shrinking reflection:
rings of smoke
dancing
circling the moon.