There are many ways of breaking a heart. Stories were full of hearts broken by love,
but what really broke a heart was taking away its dream - whatever that dream might be.
Pearl S. Buck

Friday, March 18


When I first started writing poetry, I thought that I could only do it when I was drinking in a bar, like the "greats". Drunk and dazzlingly intellectual. That only works for a brief bit of time during the process of consuming alcohol. Most of the time I ended up having in-depth discussions with other saturated semi-philosophers. I ended up writing many journals during that time frame. Alas, all those books of my poetry and writings were lost forever when I moved from Florida back to Texas. My portfolio, my journals, my history, my sketches, etc. That is the only thing I have ever lamented losing in my life. My history was in those journals. My unpublished poetry, thoughts of all the wreckage I survived during those 15 years of my life. I will never see them again. I get sick to my stomach thinking of it.

I am working on a new phase in my life right now, and it will be a new sort of creativity. I cherish the opportunity and am grateful that I wasn't lost during all the trials I have set forth for myself and hurdled over. I learned a lesson that I will be teaching my son. Always journal, and keep them in a safe place so you can access them in the future. Don't lose that part of your past. All else is material, and although those things can be valuable and worthy, it is our memories that are of true value. These images of our lives give us balance, support and a sense of self. When we get older and our minds become more feeble, they are the reminders of our physical paths and how we developed into the characters we are.

This week I am relearning the lesson, be here, now, for that is all you truly have. I have let go of those journals for a reason. They may be teaching someone else right now, or in a land fill rotting away, who knows. Maybe the words will fill the air and travel to somewhere, or I hope they do. I always hope. Despite all that has happened and even if things "appear" to be hopeless, I still hold onto it. I just don't always surface above the waterline to proclaim hope as a savior.

So what is all this about? Creativity. Time to get back to pure creativity. I have always had it. I have denied its existence lately for I was refusing/misusing it. I am free now to reunite with its claim on me. Let it flow dear girl. Its your recovery tool.

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