Tag Archives: poetry

Vorfreude

Who knew?

English has words for all kinds of emotions I never knew existed.

Sometimes you just can’t know until it’s happened to you.

 

Vorfreude, to me is:

If you’ve ever had a quarter or mid-life crisis you know your brain can tell you to do strange things.

Like quit your job and leave the country.

 

Let me explain.

It started with the election.

No, really.

I was — pretty mad (I am still mad, for the record). What the actual hell America?

 

Being a completely irrational human being I decided to only way to combat my anger was to leave.

Actually leave the country.

(I tend to run from my problems)

 

So on a whim I applied for some jobs overseas.

Well — one of those jobs overseas panned out.

 

In January, just over a month from my 28th birthday — I interviewed for a job in Japan.

And reader,

just a week shy of my 28th birthday,

I accepted the job.

 

A nervous, anxious, excited ball of energy I resigned from my teaching job.

A job I really wanted to love, but couldn’t.

A job I really could’ve loved, but was ruined for me by things out of my control.

This was February.

 

Since February I have been anxiously preparing my language skills, eating techniques, mannerisms.

Since February I have anxiously waited for details on my arrival.

 

Still — I wait.

With every ring and ding, my heart skips a beat.

Wondering if this might be the call.

The e-mail.

The one that tells me when and where.

 

I wait, ever more anxiously,

wondering when I’ll leave my home, friends, and beloved dogs.

 

If you’ve ever done something crazy like decided to move halfway around the world,

you too know the feeling.

 

It is indescribable.

Alas….I still wait.

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Death & Rebirth

With the years I have become increasingly comfortable with the cycle of life.

The cycle of life is much more than physical birth and physical death.

Life

Is all the life and death in between.

 

As a writer

I like poetic language —

I like similes and metaphors

Hyperbole and alliteration (see what I did there)

 

I also tend to see the world in all it’s own poetry

And there is life and death

Everywhere

All the time.

 

See,

Life and death takes many forms

Yes, of course there is physical giving of life and physical taking of life.

Literal: life and death

But there is much more life and death than just the beginning and the end.

 

There is life in starting school.

Learning to read and write

Learning to add and subtract

And growing those skills and understanding until

You graduate

The metaphorical death of your schooling (but let’s be honest: one should never stop learning)

 

There is life in falling in love

The euphoria of connectedness with someone you adore

Understanding on a level you thought was impossible

Then you break up.

The metaphorical death of your love

 

Reader,

I think you must get the idea.

 

People will come and go from your life.

People you were once very close to will change.

You will change, too.

Any maybe, it just won’t work like it used to.

 

As I have gotten older,

I have become content with the cycle of death and rebirth that takes place in every facet of life.

 

Friends will come.

Friends will go.

Again —

I think you get the idea.

 

But it is what comes after the life and death that is vital.

 

Rebirth.

The phoenix rising from the ashes.

Allowing you to be born anew.

To see with fresh eyes.

 

It may never be easy to die,

Or rather,

To let things die.

 

But

It is possible

To become something more.

To my husband

I am not an average person’s cup of tea.

Most people can’t handle me, and that’s fine.

I don’t really care what they think anyway.

 

I am a diamond in the rough at best,

and a piece of shit at worst.

Most people like stability.

Not two ends of the extreme.

 

I struggled a lot.

being comfortable with myself,

before I met you.

I didn’t think I’d be able to find someone who could understand my soul.

And the stormy sea that rages inside it.

 

I had friends.

I had family.

Yet, I felt misunderstood.

I felt odd.

And I was.

(I still am, for the record).

 

I remember when we first started hanging out you didn’t treat me any differently than you did your other friends.

You approached me with no agenda — something that was rare for teenage boys.

You took the time to be friends with me first.

 

Once we fell in love, though,

There was no going back.

old jc

It wasn’t always easy.

We didn’t always like each other.

But we persevered.

 

And even when we really wanted to,

we didn’t walk away from each other.

 

We got married young and everyone said we were crazy.

I was 19, and you were barely 23.

They said there was no way we’d make it.

We’d be divorced in a few years.

 

But they didn’t know that no one gets me like you do.

No one else perpetually forgives me.

No one else makes me feel safe to really be myself.

No one else believes in me the way you do.

 

There are so few men in the world who could love a woman like me.

Headstrong (extremely)

Mouthy

Argumentative

Selfish

Independent

Reckless

Flighty

 

But somehow none of those things deterred you.

Somehow you took my worst traits and made me feel…..

Less shitty about them.

 

You let me be headstrong (extremely)

You’re okay with me being mouthy

Argumentative

Selfish

Independent

Reckless

And flighty

 

You’re letting me uproot our entire lives and replant halfway around the world

In a totally new place

With a totally new culture

 

And you’re still supportive. Excited even.

 

We’ve been together a long time now.

But I find our love doesn’t fade.

If anything it gets better as time goes on.

lt wedding 2

I try to relish small moments in my life and I find my favorites are:

Lying tangled up in bed on weekend mornings

Sharing coffee and conversation with you

Laughing at stupid internet content

Listening to you talk about things you love

 

See, they all have to do with you.

I’ve come to accept that my life couldn’t be the same without you.

I wouldn’t be me without you.

 

But what’s most beautiful about us is that we don’t need each other.

We want each other.
And there’s a difference.

Almost 28

Crisis mode.

I recently learned there’s a term for this:

Aptly called,

The Quarter Life Crisis.

Perpetually somewhere between a kid & a “real” adult

 

And

Intense depression

Despair

Feeling stuck

Being disrespected

Unsure of what is next

Scared to move, yet panicked to stay

 

What if I regret change later?

What if it doesn’t make me happier?

What if?

What if?

What if?

 

What if…..

I sit here forever in a state of indecision?

What if…..

I waste my life waiting for the opportune time?

What if…..

I just don’t know how to get what I really want?

What if…..

I’m just petrified by the idea of taking a chance?

 

Already depressed.

Already unhappy.

Already stuck.

Already disrespected.

 

What could be worse?

 

I don’t know.

And that’s why I’m here,

In crisis mode.

At almost 28.  

October’s Lack of Inspiration

October.

The month of fall.

The month of cool, crisp air.

The month of sweaters, tall boots, pumpkins, candy, costumes, and spooky things.

 

I used to love October.

Now, October is so busy I have no time to think.

No time for creativity.

October has lost it’s inspiration.

 

I want to write,

But my brain is tired,

And the words don’t come.

 

I want to read,

But my eyes are tired,

And can’t focus on the words. 

 

October used to be my favorite month.

Now, I can’t wait for October to be over.  

Monster

There’s a monster inside my head.

She is dark.

She is bleak.

She does not believe in love or happiness.

 

The monster inside my head

Sometimes she is quiet

Sometimes she’s an introvert

But she is always watching,

Waiting;

On bated breath,

To pounce on any inclination

Of self-doubt

Of self-consciousness

Of blissful unawareness

 

There’s a monster inside my head.

She’s a disrespectful, hateful bitch

She’s a soul-sucking hurricane of negativity

Feasting on my thoughts

My soul

My relationships

Everything that is dear to me.

 

There’s a monster inside my head.

I hate her.

But I can never rid myself of her.

 
Because the monster inside my head is me.

Sunwashed

Today, I am the sunrise.

The reliable, slow brightening of the morning sky.

The break in the darkest of night.

 

Today, I am the constant motion of the heavens around Earth.

The quiet, accountable rotation that perpetuates exhausting darkness to renewing light.

I am the changing landscape of color that denotes a new day.

 

Today, I am the sunrise.

Steady.

Expected.

The signal of something new.

 

Today, I emerge from the fading light of the moon to become a child of the sun.

Today, I turn a new leaf.

I celebrate the sunshine.

The warmth and motion of the day.

 

Today, I am the sunrise.

Only temporary;

Before the darkness returns again.

The stains that won’t wash away

 

Today I’m left feeling like that ink pen that explodes in your apron.

Anyone who’s ever served tables knows what I’m talking about.

That rouge pen that migrated to the bottom of your apron pocket, only to explode;

And cover everything in your apron with thick, black ink.

Including your hands.

Your order pad.

Your money.

And everything else you need to do your job.

It doesn’t destroy, just complicates.

It doesn’t stop you from doing your job, just makes it harder.

 

Today, I am that pen that didn’t destroy; I just complicated things.

I am that pen that didn’t stop you from doing your job, I just made it harder.

I am those smeared, sticky black ink marks that won’t quite wash off your hands.

I am those ink marks that permeate through everything you need.

I am that ink that stains your work shirt permanently.

I cling to you.

The filthy, sloppy, sad reminder of the pen that betrayed you.

Today, I am that pen.