Aging and Love are Involuntary

I had a student this week say he follows me on Insta, Hi I!, but he doesn't read these blog posts which is probably a relief. It got me wondering whether will I share my recent love poems, try to get them published, if I know students, co-workers, family members might read them. At this stage, I'm not sure. 

My poetry is almost always personal, leaving me and my life open to interpretation by strangers as well as people I know. A friend in my writing group once said he feels like he knows my kids because of my poetry even though he hasn't met all of them. 

Normally, this doesn't bother me as my poems are always a step removed from me by either time or rewriting, but these poems are different, closer to the bone. Maybe that will change as time passes, as these feelings pass. I'll remove or edit out the more raw, emotional moments and create that distance I need, but right now I couldn't see sharing some of these poems with the people close to me. I'll maybe try to publish a few individually, that aren't so real and right now, but the others may stay closer to my chest.

The poems I've been working on lately are about love, but also growing older. Loving the person I've become. Aging has never really bothered me, but I can see how the world glances side-eye at me now that I look older, for not dying my graying hair or wearing makeup to hide my wrinkles. I feel as if I'm not allowed to age as I see fit, to be menopausal, hormonal, irrational and maybe in love with all of it. Luckily, I and my poems don't care how the world sees me and though I may complain about the aching joints, I am celebrating my newly crazy middle age.

These themes have also been popping up in my GloPoWriMo poems, the write a poem a day challenge for April. I missed Day 22 going back to work. 

Day 21 the poetry of who I was the past filed away in boxes old photos with a gold wash friends and stories still kent over the decades faces I want to forget hard copies blurred and real can I edit them out

Day 23 inspired by a Finnish song joesta järveen Tuonelan Koivut, Kotiteollisuus I thought the song said love flowed from the river to the lake so finnish so enclosed far from the pull of the tide just a collection of emotions hemmed in but it was tears

Day 24 I stalk the heron the bird is not an omen starving for my questions feeding on my promises but a reflection of what of who is hidden in the nettles and dried stalks

Day 25 grace is not required my midlife crisis needs a midwife as much as a birth to find a way through the cravings and softening skull a hand to hold when facing the feverish heights of hormones and the slow fall to decay aging is involuntary

Day 26 - I do wonder who people will relate to Billie these days (it’s Holliday for me) in the unruly hour in the arms of night I am drowning in blues that ache of wanting and wanting more and that voice petal black is the rain and Billie’s sadness she knew

I share some of my work here and in journals, both about love and growing old. Maybe not warts and all kind of sharing, but hopefully enough for people to relate to what I'm going through. Or to at least understand. That's all we can hope for some days, that people will try to understand us.

Take care.