My Heart on Ink

I recently tweaked a poem I wrote awhile back for a former love. With Valentine's Day coming up, and coming off of two breakups in 2008, one might think me a cynic; but, to the contrary, I believe in love, more than ever. Heartbreaks no longer make me jaded...I've had enough of them to learn that growing bitter accomplishes nothing other than anger, high blood pressure and emotional paralysis. I recently submitted this poem to a contest; we'll see how I fare. I'm not a perfect lover, nor am I a perfect girlfriend. Indeed, my flaws are plenty. But, I can always promise this: I love with all my heart. I love with wild abandon, because that is the only way you can really love - or live.


"The Curse of Love"


If I could write your heart a rhyme,
It'd tell you that for every time
Your dimples smile, my heart dips, then dives,
Victim to those valleys beneath your eyes.

If I could sing your heart a melody,
It'd sound just like the autumn leaves;
And as each one fell, I'd fall, too
Each day more in love with you.

If I could wear our love around my neck,
I'd string pearls of prose from right to left;
Each word picked, then plucked, from sailing shores
That stretch across my heart to yours.

But, my love, apologies --
I can gift none but this: my poetry.

The Death of the Twentysomethings

Some people my age have kids already; others are married. Some are celebrating an engagement, putting a downpayment on a house with their significant other, and buying a puppy as a precursor to parenthood.

I'm living at home. I do not know the first thing about cooking lasagna, fondue or homemade chili. I also killed my cactus plant. Yes, folks...a CACTUS PLANT. The once vibrant, sturdy green shoots have wilted into sickly yellow, flaccid appendages. In my defense, this death was not an act of rage or malice. Rather, I simply forgot to water it - for the better part of six months. Oops.

Other signs I may have been born without the domestic/maternal gene: accidentally feeding my roommate's dog Xanax; causing a fire in the kitchen on more than one occasion; and my recurring nightmares about dropping my own future baby on his or her head.

As a fledgling, pocket-sized twentysomething, I'm still figuring life out, one awkward mistake at a time. Yet, I'm learning to embrace this nebulous time in my life. A springtime dandelion floating across the field of youth, I'm trying to enjoy the scenery and not rush my final destination.

However, sometimes I really do feel like the old maid with the cats (except no cats, just plants tortured through accidental malnutrition). Yet, at age 24, I shouldn't feel this way. But I do. Half of my high school friends are married; the other half are engaged or living with their significant other. What has happened to the twentysomething? A dying breed, this endangered species flocks to coastal regions and abroad. Here in the Midwest, it's a rare sighting indeed. Here. everyone rushes to become an "adult," in the Pleasantville sense of the word. So many are in a hurry to get married, get a house and have kids. But, you see, the thing about white picket fences is...they're fences. Premature domesticity has a price, and that price is freedom, independence and self-growth.

It's like life is a television series. You can't peak too early, otherwise your elevated expectations set you up for disappointment or boredom. I like to think I'm still on the upward climb. While others are taking Christmas pictures with their spouse, I'm taking pictures of Machu Picchu, or Ecuadorian volcanoes. That's my Christmas picture. And I'm very proud of it (even if I can't maintain a desert plant...whatevs)

Don't get me wrong - I'm happy for those who are genuinely content and happy in their settled-down life, career, marriage. However, I wish there were more like me around in Minnesota. For now, I'll keep killing cacti, eating frozen pizzas and traveling the globe. :)