Over on Instagram, I share the motivations quotes of my dogs and cats, which is weird, I know. It’s weird that I give the animals words to hopefully help people instead of Oprah or Tony Robbinsing it and just doing it myself.
I would say it’s because I post pictures to get people’s attention and my animals are much cuter than I am.
I think that’s part of it.
But the other part is that I have a hard time letting advice and inspiration and motivation just come from me. Shaun says this is because I lack ego, but maybe? Maybe it’s really that I can’t hit that level of brave yet.
I’m not sure.
But also, the animals are cute.
Also on Instagram I’ve started putting out poetry snippets, which is really challenging because I’m not a short poetry sort of person. When I wrote poems in my twenties, I wrote longer ones and the gatekeepers liked to tell me that my voice was too raw.
“Too raw for poetry. Beautiful. True. But too raw.”
I heard it over and over again.
And I think that my poetry is a bit like my voice. It is imperfect. It sounds like a Muppet. I slosh my s’s a lot. It’s not a typical poet voice. It’s raw.
And that rawness, I think is why it’s hard for me to share poems (short or long), but I’m starting and that’s something, right?
I am often angry in my poems. People don’t think of me as angry, but oh my gosh, I get so self-righteous sometimes. It’s amazing. But I think that part of the beauty of poems, of the form, is that it gives you space for that even when it’s too raw.
There should be a place for raw. And I think that the place is happening now. I think the raw spot has been growing and starting to be more seen, more accepted. Because the thing is that the raw is just as real as the well done and polished.
Staring at the blank page, “Maybe I can write a poem,” I said, “Because poems are simple.” Hahahaha. Ha. Anxiety tells me that The car will crash on the way to Canada Or that the child will get kicked out of school, Finally, for hitting a teacher and refusing to do her work. All the labels they give her. So many labels. It tells me that the kennel will lose our dogs; The kittens will eat each other, That I will never make money again And end up what? Living in the car. I’ve been there. Done that. Lose a house? Have people mock me? Become a cautionary story in the tale of writers. “She was once a NYT bestseller, international bestseller. Look at her now.” Look at me now. A bee could sting me and I could die. A man could strike me and I could die. A plane could crash. An ego could burn. A Twitter troll Could take it all down. Why don’t I just save them all The trouble and do it instead. I could write a poem. That should be simple, right? I am so scared. So. Scared.
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And I’m starting up a brand new, adult paranormal set at a Maine campground. You can read the first chapter here.