I did it!

So I spent most of the day yesterday finally putting together a little poetry/reflections compilation of my writing on Lulu.com and I actually ordered a copy to be published! I'm pretty excited. I mostly did it as a trial run for my Creative Writing class this year, but also because I thought it would be cool to have an actual book of my writing. You can check it out by clicking on the title of this post, which will link you to the Lulu website but I don't advise buying a copy yet (if you were even thinking of it), since I want to get my copy first to proof it, and see if I want/need to make any changes. Anyhow, I'm pretty proud of myself for actually doing this, so I wanted to share. :)

the murky miasma of the dream-world

I am trekking across a floor of glass that stretches over a dark abyss that has the sensation of no bottom. I can’t clarify how I know that the vastest sprawl of nothingness spreads beneath my feet, but I have never been more certain of anything. The journey is treacherous because the glass is polished to a slippery sheen and dangerously thin. One false move, one wrong step, and the glass will shatter and I’ll begin tumbling through the dark void. If that happens, I know I’ll panic and desperately claw at the edge, but the broken glass will cut me open and my blood will colour the glass slick and ominous. I’ll plummet into oblivion, and the shards will cut me up along the way until there’s nothing left of me, until I’ve bled out and my pale shell continues wafting through the nothingness, eternally searching for peace and wholeness. Such a fate terrifies me and I seek to avoid it at all costs. So I continually struggle, tiptoeing across my existence, the only one I know, maintaining some kind of tenuous hold on the oily glass surface and pray that the foundation will hold. Pray that my sanity will keep me on this side of the abyss. I am Prometheus, eternally struggling against my fate, dreading it, avoiding it, yet realizing the resistance may be a worse fate than giving in to the inevitable engulfing by the thick black abyss. Suddenly, in my desperation, I fall and I hear the glass crack, feel the sharp glass penetrate my skin and I’m sinking. But it’s water beneath me, not air. It’s still dark, thick almost, like oil, but I’m still sinking and I can see and taste and smell my blood staining the water red. This can’t be happening. I have to get out; I have to find the glass floor...

turning text into poetry

Last November, I attempted NaNoWriMo, which is a challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. I didn't manage to finish it, but I wrote a few sections of text that I am proud of. One of the main characters in this attempted novel is a woman in an abusive relationship and as she stands in front of the mirror one morning, she makes some observations about the signs of her abuse. I turned that piece of text into the following poem:


Magic Eye

My skin is smooth,
the skin of a mango,
discoloured that way too.

The bruise is beautiful –
numerous shades of blue and purple.
Its design could draw me in,
like an exceptionally striking piece of abstract art
or one of those magic eye pieces,
where the picture behind the shapes slowly swims into focus
as you stare past the surface.

I’ve always loved magic eyes;
it’s as if they are sages offering some wisdom
with trembling outstretched arms.
Their gift waves in and out of focus,
as it slowly solidifies into something tangible.
But if you haven’t learned the secret
to grabbing that wisdom
before it slips out of their shaking fingers,
you won’t find it.
That kind of wisdom
is only available for a select few.

I gaze at my bruise,
get drawn into its dark beauty
against the pale creaminess of the flesh
that stretches across my chin.

I will the story behind it to tell itself
to those around me,
to reveal the story that I cannot.
However, as I stare at it, or past it,
trying to make the truth swim to the surface,
I realize that the real story isn’t even visible to me
and I will mask it with the magic eye
of makeup and a new story.

So how can I hope for someone else
to interpret the map of my bruised body
and tell me what I need to hear?