Waking Up


I believe inside each of us resides a broken heart that never received the love needed. Our job is to heal those wounds, as revealed, and to search for those yet uncovered.

It came to me -a dream
And so my friend,
he has a name -Goy Peppo.

My constant companion on this writing adventure, Goy “Penguin” Peppo. He hardly believes I have shoved out all these words, nonstop, since 2008. Its akin to puking… i slowly loose the burden, strung around my neck, threatening to hang me.

Certainly there are people who would loved to have seen me dead. Growing up, there were kids in school who harbored ill desires toward me. At home, my sisters regulated me to a corner of the room, size of a cardboard box, and threw my clothes on top. I was invisible to my parents who walked right past and never noticed the tears.

Nights. I remember being in the dark, listening to the laughter coming from the living room. My parents and sisters would make pizza and popcorn and watch tv. It didn’t matter. I held my breath, covered my face with a pillow, in hopes the world would disappear. I would wake to silence, thinking I was dead. Imagine the disappointment when my wishes had not come true.

So, Goy searches for Words of Wisdom, in hopes, with time, I can be as loved as him.

Wharton “It was easy enough to despise the world, but decidedly difficult to find any other habitable region.”

Woolf “I thought how unpleasant it is to be locked out; and I thought how it is worse, perhaps, to be locked in.”

Emily
“I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!”

Alcott “I keep turning over new leaves, and spoiling them, as I used to spoil my copybooks; and I make so many beginnings there never will be an end.” (Jo March)

Frost “Poetry is what gets lost in translation.”

Plath “Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn’t stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren’t having any of those.

If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed.

I feel my words are changing as I am healing. Becoming one heart. Whole. I hope I am growing as a writer, expressing the deep caverns, still not lit well enough to explore.

Writing is a discipline as any other creative endeavor. What we give of ourselves, to both the process and the outcome, is what eventually is criticized. What remains unsaid, at the end of the day, will wait for tomorrow.

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