Writing a "new" autobiography...

Well, it was another fantastic weekend. We got to enjoy the fantastic sounds of High Range on Saturday evening at The Theater in the Woods. It was an amazing place, with some equally amazing company. My love and I, along with my Dad, met up with the fabulous Jess and her super other half Al for some dinner Subway style and then proceeded WAY out into the woods to this wild structure that is the Theater in the Woods. I'm not even sure what to call it... it sort of resembles a circus tent on the outside... whatever it is, it is really neat and I would highly recommend you get there if you get a chance. Not only is it a cool place and they have some exciting entertainment, a chunk of the profit goes to support Believe in Books which is a literacy foundation that tries to get books into every kid's hand. Sounds like a plan to me!

I also managed to write a HUGE lump of poetry this weekend. I had most of yesterday all to myself and I used it to my serious advantage. I did some major multi-tasking - kicking the derriere of some laundry whilst writing an autobiographical poem... and all of that after visiting some super scented sugar houses. At any rate, here's the poem... let me know what you think...

The gray days

are piling up

and I need to write my life story

all over again.

It’s one of those times

when the truth

is stranger than fiction

and in some cases

where fantasy

becomes

reality.

Some days my history

just doesn’t add up

to equal my present.

I am a garbled equation

with too many variables

on one side

tipping the balance

in one direction all the time.

I’ve spent years in school

and I still can’t apply

the correct property

to remedy the situation.

I have changed sides

so many times

I don’t remember now

where I began.

Once upon a time

I was a little girl.

I was a little girl

with a pony

and a book in her hand.

Years spent in the sun

that was all I needed.

I felt full.

Comfortable.

At home inside my skin.

And then, everything changed.

From one day to the next

I went from a little girl

with a pony

and a book in her hand –

to a little girl

with nothing but ashes

and memories in her hand.

My heart was not just

broken.

It ceased to exist.

It disappeared simultaneously

the moment I saw

it was all gone.

It was MIA.

No one had seen it.

I couldn’t feel it.

I thought maybe it was gone for good

and I wouldn’t hurt

ever again.

I learned I was wrong

two months later

when a pair of warm brown eyes

planted the seed

that sprouted

and when that sprout flowered

my heart had grown

again.

The heart brought back feeling

and feeling

meant pain.

I hurt for years

and sometimes

I hurt to this day.

As time went on

I prayed.

I kept talking about silver linings

and everything happening

for a reason

but I just wanted

to understand.

I wanted to know

why bad things happen

to good people.

To little girls

with a pony

and a book in their hand.

Unfortunately for me

answers were not forthcoming

from wherever it is

prayers are supposed to be

answered from.

So I just kept saying

all of those things

I was supposed to be

saying

and doing

all of those things

I was supposed to be

doing.

I put myself out there.

I searched for connections.

For love.

For feeling.

For understanding.

For kinship.

And all the while

my soul knew…

It knew there was no more

searching.

No more

seeking.

No more

looking

without finding

because I already found

my other half,

without even looking.

There you were one day.

A fine June afternoon

walking my direction

when I was struck

by this feeling.

A feeling I can’t really describe

but to say that I was

both contented and ecstatic

all at once.

One thought crossed my mind,

“he’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

And I had no idea how right I was.

That summer we forged a friendship.

There was an undeniable bond

and a never-ending daydream on my part

that someday we would be able to be

what I saw in my dreams.

For years I clung to those dreams.

They were my happy place

in a sea of melancholic mastic.

Even though we were separated

by miles

and maybe mistakes

just knowing that you existed

made my days bearable.

I’ve since discovered

that perhaps good things come

to those who wait.

Ten years passed us by

and choices brought us back together.

Connected once again by chance

and I decided I could not let you go.

We started out battling adversity.

You faced the same foe

daily –

fighting against a rip tide

never gaining ground.

All that time we were

searching for something –

searching for salvation –

searching for a reason –

and we became

each other’s something

each other’s salvation

each other’s reason.

We became an island

untouched

in our own personal storm.

We weathered that first torrent

together.

A united front behind the scenes,

heading for the forefront.

And one day it all rose

to a deafening crescendo.

Too many insults

too many wrongs

too much hurt.

You came to me

and together we wrote your very own

emancipation proclamation.

Here we are now

months after

the declaration was made

basking in the fact that we’ve actually made it

this far.

Where will our story go from here?