It has been so long, so very long...
Since I've seen you,
Some 40 years have past.

Since that first incredible hour in which we met.

I still think of you;
Those big brown eyes,
Your childish smile,
Sweet wonder with a warm heart.

Your every word inspires me,
When you come near to me.
Little do you know how soothed you made my heart.
Such beauty and kindness filled my eyes with fires of desire.

As I grow older,
and time moves swiftly.
I still wonder why our Father,
decided He needed another Angel
on that tragic day,
when, He took you away from me?

I missed you today.

Copyright © Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.

I write "you exist"
on the fragility of my wrist
because I need to remind myself
that this isn't a nightmare
and life has good parts too.

I need these words to fetter me
as if I were something solid
because I haven't felt that lately

I am the dead leaf
detached from branches
broken off from life

I am the echo in the mountain
too late
belonging to no one

I am the carving on the tree trunk
a reminder of a love already gone
fading, unnoticed

I am the falling star
burning, blazing
dead a million years.

I am nothing
but I exist.

I exist.

Staring up at my tree, I do not feel small.
I do not feel as though I am being enveloped by color and light that rang throughout my childhood.  
My eyes do not wink back the twinkle that they see.

There is no anticipation.
There is no heart beat to steady the carols that are sung.
Sleep eludes me still, but for different reasons.  

Staring up at my tree, I feel large.
I feel too big to crawl under and reach the packages in the morning.  
I don't see magic in the twinkle of the lights, I see the outlet they are plugged in to.
I do not feel joy or hope.
I do not hear the angel's chorus and I do not hear the bells ring.

I do not feel grown up, but out grown.
I no longer believe and yet I have never believed in something so hard in my entire life.

Maybe I feel large because it is not my tree anymore.
I knew who it once belonged to, but they have been gone for a long time.  
Maybe the problem isn't that I feel too large or too un-small,  
Perhaps, it's that I just. Don't. Feel.

I was never supposed to be this girl.

I was supposed to be Dark.
I was supposed to be to Depressed.
I was supposed to be Angry.
I was supposed to be Rebellious.
I was supposed to be Alone

I was supposed to be the type to cry myself to sleep.
I was supposed to be the type to cut myself at night.
I was supposed to be the type to be misunderstood.
I was supposed to be the type to be judged.
I was supposed to be the type to hate and be hated.

But
I am not exactly who I was supposed to be.

I am still Angry.
I am still rebellious.
I am still misunderstood.

But

I am not alone.
I am loved those around me.

I do not hate,
And I am not hated.
Because I worked to tear down the walls I built.

I am not who I was supposed to be,
And that's okay with me.

Because who I am turned out to be better.
I turned out to be more than I thought I could be.

I realized something.

I realized that parts of me that were "supposed to be"
never were.
I realized that parts of who I am were always "supposed to be.

I realized that parts of me will always be the same.

I will always want to rebel.
I will always feel a little dark
Or depressed.
I will always be angry at the unfairness of the world.
"Who I Am" and "Who I Was Supposed To Be"
Will always be intermixed.

But

It is in that mixture that the True Me has formed.
I will never be somethings,
And always be others.

But

It is in those things that I will find
Who I Am To Become

And I guess I'll figure that out as I go.

People proofread because they want to find their errors.
People find errors so that they can correct them.
People correct them because they want perfection.
People want perfection so that society will love them.

But there is beauty in errors.
There is beauty in the flaws, not only on paper,
But in the flaws of your person.
There is beauty in the rawness that comes with lack of Proofreading.

Perfection is overrated.
Perfection is unreachable.
Perfection is what stands between you and your dreams.
Perfection is masked fear.

Maybe it's just me,
But I would rather see someone's raw imperfections,
The things that scare them,
The things that they's rather hide,

Than the picture perfect image that they create,
With Proofreading.

Ironic isn't it?
A poem about poetry?
A small thing talking about
The larger thing that is makes up.

But that's what poetry is.

Poetry is made up of words
That people are afraid to say,
Yet yearn to write because
Everyone needs to let the words escape.

Poetry is a collection of poems,
Which are a collection of words,
Which are a collection of thoughts,
Which are a collection of ideas.

Poetry is a collection of everything that makes a person who he is.

So, yes, this is a poem about poetry
Because poems are about expression
And desire,
And the desire to express.

That's what I have,
A desire for expression.
So, I'm expressing my desire
By writing a poem about poetry.

Poetry is the small thing that makes up the big thing.
That big thing is me,
And people around me.

And we make up the world.

When I was younger,
I thought that my love life as a teenager would be fleeting.

I imagined it to be like the wind;
Something that could be felt,
but not seen.
And something that never stayed for too long.

I thought that I would date
Boys with tattoos and piercings
Boys in bands
Boys with skateboards
Boys who smoked
Boys who drank
Boys who partied

Boys who would probably treat me like ****
but it wouldn't matter because they would make me feel alive.

I never thought that my teenage love would be something like this;
Something real
Something permanent
Something deep
Something personal
Something attached
Something loving
Something scary

I never wanted to put myself in a situation in which I could get hurt.
But I did anyway.

When I met him
I decided that it was worth it
I decided that he was all I wanted
I decided that it would be useless to waste time with someone else
I decided that he was my person
I decided that I could trust him
I decided that I should go against all I wanted in a teenage relationship
Because being with him was worth any pain that it caused me.

I decided that he was mine and I was his.
Forever.

And I realized that I didn't want anything else.