A List Poem

Hi. It’s been so long since I’ve written anything, too long in fact.  I feel out of the written-word-loop and for some reason it’s been keeping me awake at night.  Yesterday I remembered how writing used to be such a positive outlet for me– so here I am.

I’ve been thinking about when I was on the Literary Magazine in High School.  I loved it.  I was grateful for the passage it gave me to express myself freely, without worry of guilt, embarrassment, or judgment.  I was thankful for the kindred souls that wrote beside me.  We all were able to share our intimate thoughts and feelings simply by strewing them across white parchment or by letting our fingers dance across keyboards.  Even though we were all different and had diverse backgrounds, we were able to offer criticism and advice on what has been written- we were even able to have everyone’s opinion on work that needed to be shared anonymously.  It was simple.  Everyone was accepted.  No one was put down for being overly emotional, cold hearted, or heaven forbid to any grammar-nazis out there, misspellings.

My sister, Lera, was involved in the magazine.   She is 2 years my senior and when she was about to graduate I told her I was interested in joining the club, she helped me figure out what type of written piece I should submit to her peers to be judged and hopefully to win me a spot in the class. I wrote a list poem.  I’ve never heard of one before and when Lera told me about it, I thought it wouldn’t come across creative enough.  I thought that way of writing was too, I don’t know, “simple” I guess.  But I wrote it, they loved it, and it opened a lot of doors for me. 

I figured, since it’s been so long since I've written anything, I should re-submit myself to writing.  I’ve decided to apply with a list poem, for old time’s sake.

I feel:

Sad- I miss my Mom.  I miss feeling a part of a family; to have a place to go that feels like “ours”.  There is no more ours.  There is only “their place” and “thank you for inviting me”.

Alone - It’s the middle of the night, I’m watching Dexter, and someone is trying to open my front door.

Depressed- I’m a failure.  None of this means a damn thing.

Scared- Steady blips on the monitor spike up and down next to me, undeniable proof that my heart is still beating.  I’m in the dark, crying silently so the staff doesn’t hear what a coward I am.  I’m staying in what one of the nurses called the “broken heart” floor of the hospital; everyone else on the floor is here because of heart defects or disease, but they don’t know what I have, or where they should put me. The doctors can’t tell me why I’m here.  They can't tell me why my entire left side has lost strength and feeling, why I’m being buried alive in my own body.

Excited- Starting a 2 hour pinning marathon on Pinterest.

Blessed- I’m walking up stairs, and across uneven ground, without falling.  My nerve damage is repairing itself, long after the needed recovery time that modern day science had given me. Now as I get dressed in the morning, I don’t worry so much about my misshapen leg muscles and the numbness that lingers- It’s a miracle that I’m healing! I’m healing and I’m giving myself time to adjust. 

Free- It’s starting to rain again.  I roll down the car window and let it all in. The crisp air smells of the ocean and the neighboring dense forest trees.  I was nervous about driving on this bridge.  It’s so high and the ocean is far below us stretched as far as the eye can see- my two worst phobias.   But I don’t feel fear from height or water; instead I feel the raindrops spray softly across my face.  I feel my heart pounding excitedly in my chest, singing with blissful and purposeful beats. I feel life fill my lungs as though I haven’t breathed in years. I pull my friends camera out of the back seat, turn off her windshield wipers for as long as I dare, and take a picture of this perfect moment through the windshield.

Exhausted- My work week is slowly killing me: 5 hours until my alarm clock goes off, 1.5 hours until I need to leave for work, 1.5 hours until break, 15 minutes is not enough, 2.5 hours until I can eat, 5 minute mini-break so I can get more caffeine, I need to get the reports out, I’m running on time- finally!, Maybe I have to stay for overtime, I’m 3 minutes over my break, 190 emails sent, 145 emails deleted, 15 calls received, 25 outbound calls - I only have 2 hours before I can leave, I have 40 minutes to get home, I have 5 minutes until I need to leave, Crap I forgot to follow up on that issue- I’ll schedule it for tomorrow, 60 total minutes on the road, 3 hours until I need to go to sleep for an 8 hour night, I should call her, I need to buy this, I want to help them, I need to get out of my house, I need to get home, 5.5 hours until my alarm goes off…

Embarrassed- I’m sweating like a GIGANTIC pig!  This treadmill is going to kill me.  Please stop watching me.  Why are there mirrors in here?  I look like jiggly mash potatoes. I’m going to rip my shirt if I don’t stop pulling it down in the front.  “One of these things is not like the others…” 

Peaceful- My head hitting the puffed-up side of the pillow and the window is open, letting a cool breeze in to my clean, stylish bedroom.

Happy- Playing board games into the middle of the night with my family and best friends.  I listen to my mother’s voice bouncing between roaring laughter, awkward pickup lines to any male in the room, answers to my Dad’s “just checking in” phone calls from the road, stories about her mother, and outlandish words she finds on the Scrabble board that only someone from the 1800’s would know.  My sister wins every game of intellect.  I win every game of stratagem.  My childhood friend wins every game of speed.  My mom is smiling at all of us, just happy to play- the real winner.  “Does anyone need a drink from the fridge?”