Senses and Words
This may sound a little strange, but do you ever touch your own skin - like your arm, or your face and try to imagine what it would feel like to another person? I'm not even trying to be overtly sexual, but sometimes when you touch your own skin it doesn't quite feel like you? I dunno, I guess I find it very relaxing sometimes. When I was a child, my grandmother used to put me to sleep by stroking my face with a make-up brush and telling me a story about how my face was a garden and she was tending to the flowers. My lips were tulips, my forehead was a grassy pasture, my eyes were forget-me-nots, and my cheeks were roses. It's just such a calming feeling. Sometimes, I lay in bed and twirl my hair or trace around my face thinking about that, like a substitute for the absence of another's touch.
I was also thinking about a small discrepancy I noticed in my journal. I wrote on one list that I have been published and on another that I dream of being published. So allow me to clarify. For those of you who don't know, I really was published in high school by a literary magazine called "Night Roses" based around Chicago. I sent them my poetry on a trial assignment from my creative writing class, and they did actually publish one of my poems. I recently recalled this, because they sent my archived poem back and notified me that they were closing (this happened about a month ago). But, I do still dream of being published, I guess just more substantially - like a book, or memoir, or something that people could actually buy to read. At least I know how to submit work now anyways :) So on that note, I thought I would include my published poem.
I used the format style of a Shakespearian poem, but the words are all mine.
Oh Secret Love:
Oh secret love! Where are you going?
Oh! Tis your heart; you fear of showing,
That holds me in its grasp.
Hide no longer, lovely flower;
Stay with me but one more hour,
If we should want to last.
What are secrets? in keeping capture;
Our secret affair giving rapture;
The future still mistaken:
In shyness you deny me;
so love me and love free,
Before we must awaken.
I was also thinking about a small discrepancy I noticed in my journal. I wrote on one list that I have been published and on another that I dream of being published. So allow me to clarify. For those of you who don't know, I really was published in high school by a literary magazine called "Night Roses" based around Chicago. I sent them my poetry on a trial assignment from my creative writing class, and they did actually publish one of my poems. I recently recalled this, because they sent my archived poem back and notified me that they were closing (this happened about a month ago). But, I do still dream of being published, I guess just more substantially - like a book, or memoir, or something that people could actually buy to read. At least I know how to submit work now anyways :) So on that note, I thought I would include my published poem.
I used the format style of a Shakespearian poem, but the words are all mine.
Oh Secret Love:
Oh secret love! Where are you going?
Oh! Tis your heart; you fear of showing,
That holds me in its grasp.
Hide no longer, lovely flower;
Stay with me but one more hour,
If we should want to last.
What are secrets? in keeping capture;
Our secret affair giving rapture;
The future still mistaken:
In shyness you deny me;
so love me and love free,
Before we must awaken.