Threading Love

“Write a detailed description of an object…It doesn’t matter what….

“After you’ve done this, begin a poem with ‘You are…’ and imagine a loved one as that object. This is a metaphor again – imagining one thing in terms of another.”

-Kim Addonizio, “Ordinary Genius”

I ended up editing the poem, which I don’t normally do. I just started formatting it differently at the end and decided to make the whole poem flow in the same way.

Description of Thread

So thin your fingers barely feel it. A collection of finer threads wound tightly together that show when the ends fray.

You wind your way around and around a spool until you form a wall of color, an infinity with no end just a single, thin start.

Poem

You are

a piece of thread Skin so thin

I can barely feel it as I run my fingers along your back

this miraculous collection of sinews and tissues and

smaller things wound tightly together

Only in the end when you are cut

apart will we see how everything fits to make

one

Meanwhile our lives twine like a single thread

around a spool I hope for

infinity Forever

with you

Diving Deeper

“Many couples tell stories about the moment when they first saw each other, or first fell in love. Meeting a love is a powerful moment. Parting from one is equally intense. Close your eyes and spend a few minutes remembering the highs and lows of those meetings and partings. Is there one experience, positive or negative, that you want to bring to the page? Spend a few more minutes focusing on that experience. The process, again, involves immersing yourself in the past and entering that prior experience before beginning to write.”

-Kim Addonizio

 

I took the same situation, the same parting, and told it two different ways. Let me know which one you prefer.

 

Poem One

I should have left months ago

Years ago

He was like a venus

fly trap

I didn’t know until

I was caught

And then it was too late

 

I moved away

Home, actually

But a thread of wires

connected us

Communication didn’t stop

Like poison

Seeping into life forces

 

One day I snapped and finally

I saw

The manipulative, vindictive, self-depreciating jerk

he was

But it was far too late

The scars

do not begin to fade.

 

 

Poem Two

I won’t have it

Everything you say

– you might believe it –

Is bullshit

Leave me Alone!

Your mind tricks don’t work

Of course,

you don’t see it

You don’t see every time

You seek my pity

Blame yourself

Destroy yourself

You force me

To my knees

Shove yourself inside me

Well I won’t have it

You can’t have me

I’m free

Family Rules

“Focus on an early memory that involves you and one or both of your parents: a day at the beach, riding in the back seat of the car on a trip, playing catch in the yard. The memory might be positive or negative, but it needs to be pivotal in some way. The memory should be one you associate with a lesson learned, a greater understanding of yourself or your parents or the world. …

“Write for ten minutes, including not only what happened, but also the lesson you took from the experience.”

– Kim Addonizio, “Ordinary Genius”

 

 

The only rule in our family is don’t worry your mother.

Don’t wander after ice skating and sit behind a pillar. Don’t let mom search and search.

I wonder where she is. Why she hasn’t come to pick me up. It’s dark outside. Eight O’clock in winter. I’m not worried, yet. I was in the right place.

When she finds me, Mom yells. She chews me out. I don’t see fear, only anger. I am young. I wasn’t with her for the frantic search, the rising panic.

I thought I had done something wrong. I was grounded. She yelled

The anxiety that had begun nibbling at my stomach had turned to a cool wave of relief. I start to cry. More due to Mom’s yelling than relief. We ride home in the mini-van. Stoplights provide a dim red hue to everything.

Mom isn’t mad anymore. She is quiet. Anger gone. Relief has calmed her. Faith that the world isgood.

If you want to keep your head and your freedom, don’t worry Mom.

Why We Need To Talk About Elliot Rodger

JamesMSama.com

For those of you who are unfamiliar with Elliot Rodger, he is (was) the 22 year old son of Hunger Games second unit director Peter Rodger. Elliot has recently carried out his predicted slaughter of women and sexually active men (7 killed in total) and then himself. Elliot submitted a 140+ page personal manifesto which chronicles his life and loneliness in incredible detail. Gawker has published Elliot’s YouTube threat(s) as well as his full manifesto.

Image

Why did he do this? Because he was lonely. Because he was a 22 year old virgin and had never kissed a girl. Because he had a deep hatred for women who rejected him and for men who were sexually active. Because he saw himself as the perfect man, the “true alpha male” as he says in his videos – and yet all women rejected him.

Why do we need to discuss this? Because…

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Athens First United Methodist Church

First, let me apologize for not posting yesterday. The prompt and following poem were too personal for me to share with the world. I promise it wasn’t an excuse for slacking.

 

“Sit for a few minutes, eyes closed, and focus on a place where you once lived or spent a lot of time….

“After you’ve virtually experienced your place, using all of your senses, open your eyes and write for ten minutes, describing the place in purely physical terms.

“Now write about it emotionally for ten minutes. Were you happy, confused, miserable, all of those things at once?

“Now write a third piece, without looking at the first two.”

 

Physical Description

White pillars

White walls

White pews

Stairs to go up into the library, the WSC, and bell choir room

Stairs to go down into the choir room, classrooms and fellowship hall

The chapel, small, carpeted

The sanctuary – enormous, balcony, white pulpit, lectern

Hannah running up and down the aisles

The WSC was blue with blue/green carpet and hand prints of former students

Not mine

Couches against the wall.

Old worn, nice for napping on

Bell choir room had Noah’s ark animals painted on the walls. A giraffe was missing a leg. Swelteringly hot in spring and summer

Small space, squeeze the choir in the clang of bells reverberating

The library was small and quiet. It had board games, kids books and adult books – Bibles of course included – movies a small table for meetings.

Fellowship hall smells like lunch

Ham of chicken – potluck stuff with salads and tons of dessert. People fill the room. Kids, college students, parents, grandparents

There’s a rubber band rocket stuck in the molding way up high in the sanctuary.

 

 

Emotional Description

My sanctuary, my escape, my place of rest

When I moved off campus this became my place to go between classes

I met my family here. My pseudo moms and dad and sisters. I met my roommate here.

I went here to be alone and pray

I was welcomed and wanted and missed. People knew me and liked me. I wasn’t alone. I was wanted

I remember laughing all the time in bell choir. Ken and Wendy were so goofy. The director made me feel important. He played a bell duet with me because I had experience playing. In a time when I felt so alone, it was what I needed

I can’t get over how welcomed I felt. People wanted me to be there.

It was my safe place. I could sleep there

Ally and I played silly board games and laughed and had a chance to be honest with each other

This is the place where I belonged. I traveled to Honduras with some of these people. Twice. Wendy took me to dinner and to her house. I always had someone to sit with at potlucks. I’m so thankful for this family. For the kids I got to see graduate high school.

 

 

 

Third Piece

At home

I’m homesick

For my other home

My other family

Ken

Wendy

Ellen

Ally

Elyse

Anna

Pete

Mary Jo

Grant

My heart aches

For a time I’ve grown out of

I have my degree

Time

For the real world

But why do I have to face it alone?

&*^#(#*& Words

“Write a poem as a ember of the opposite sex, praising your own; write a poem as a member of the opposite sex, condemning your own.”

-Kim Addonizio

Curls fall on shoulders

run into breasts

curve with the waist

to show off beautiful hips

My hand fits nicely

like it was meant to rest

around her waist

Built for beauty

My beauty

My girl

Warning! This next poem uses many offensive and derogatory terms. In one instance “lesbian” is used. I do not mean that lesbians are offensive/wrong/etc but that men will call women who won’t “put out” lesbians. I was struggling for words by the end, so if you have any suggestions, please let me know.

Ass

Bitch

Cunt

Dumb blond

Eye candy

Fag hag

Gold digger

Hoe

Ice queen

Jezebel

Kooch

Lesbian

MILF

Nips

Old bag

Prude

Queer

Ratchet

Slut

Tramp

Ugly

Vixen

Whore

Xbox

Yummy mummy

Zero

Throwing Stones

“Write a condemnation of the opposite sex, then of your own. Let loose with everything that annoys you, bothers you, deeply disturbs you.”

-Kim Addonizio

This is my condemnation but I would love to hear what you dislike about your sex and the opposite sex.

Men

Strength abused

Power abused

Women abused

Fear is not respect

Sex is not love

No does not mean yes

And it’s not funny

Women watch how you

dress, walk, talk, act, drink

Don’t go walking in

alleys, the dark, dorms, parties, parks

But men

boys will be boys

Feel a need

Fill the need

Take it if you must

Desire is meant to be satisfied

 

Use your

strength, power, women

 

 

 

 

Women

Oh my gosh

Did you hear what Amber said?

I’m not supposed to say

but Kayla hates you

Bobby slept with Julie

Rachel told Sierra told

Megan told Alicia told

Susan told Beth told

Christa looks so fat in those jeans

I love your haircut

Not

I think John is gay

I think Lisa is preggers

I think

I think

I ruin lives