So, first and foremost that 30 in 30 I did in April really did a number on me (especially since I wrote more than thirty poems), but guess what? I’m doing it again this summer as part of Zoetic Press’ challenge. this will be year #3 and they say third time is a charm right? Only this time (at least I’m hoping it works the way I planned), I’ll be writing more of FYMBF, one of the memoirs I’m working on, and it scares me. This book hurts to write now, so I can only think about what it feels like as I go deeper and deeper.
Imagine patchworking a wound shut with a rusted needle, razors, and duct tape only to re-open the wound with a knife and salt it with every word you write. Everything that comes out tastes like bile, sounds like skidding tires or 6th graders talking at high volume for hours on end with no window for relief or at least to open it to the world.
But all of this comes with the process. The hurt is temporary. This hurt is every piece of closure I wanted but never fully got. I’m creating a space With this book, a lot of things will be over. And people might hate me if I put it all out there. People might try to claim it was all my fault, some of which I already own up to, and some of which couldn’t be helped in that situation. People might not think I’m telling the truth, but I am. It’s my truth, and truth in itself is relative.
Oh the joy of being a writer, of telling stories that aren’t exclusively yours. Of falling in love with yourself and who you’ve become since.
I can’t wait for this story to be told.