This is the collection that caused me to stop writing Speaking of Poetry back stories to my poems. More so even than Breaking nearly did, which I finally wrote what at the time was just over a month after I had finished it. I never did think I would write one for Fallen.
Fallen isn’t just about depression, it’s about being (obsessively) in love.
It’s been bugging me for over a year and a half that I haven’t yet posted a Speaking of Poetry: Fallen. But I haven’t really felt able to dive into that emotional mess until recently, and really I didn’t*want* to go back and reexamine those thoughts and feelings. But before I can do that, I wanted to get this one out of the way—it’s the bridge between the poems where I was on my way to the bottom, and the poems where I was looking towards the sunlight hidden at the end of the tunnel.
Mother is worried about the older sibling finding a job. He’s been graduated the same length of time I have, and he hasn’t found anything yet, even just a small job to bide the time until what he’s looking for (graphic design) pops up. I told her he needs to apply at Wal Mart… but she seems averse to that. I know Wal Mart isn’t exactly the golden world, but beggars can’t be choosers.
She skated Chicago… I could tell she was thinking it (poor mom, you raised a son like you, who reads between the lines to know what you’re thinking, is intuitive enough to run with his suspicions, and who also knows you well enough to know when he’s right) when she talked about “my generation”—living in wolf packs, either being too far in debt to survive or uneducated/unqualified too far to find a living. Times have changed, mother, and I’m sure I don’t have the same dreams you have.
So I’m not scared of the city. I’m not scared of the masses. I’m not scared of finding a job and making a living. All of that is secondary to being alive. Maybe I couldn’t see that until I realized my sexuality and was forced to acknowledge that happiness isn’t something that you can take for granted. If I’m alive, surrounded by the right people, then I’ll find a way.
I think I’ll leave Derek a Facebook message tomorrow morning (not tonight, it might set off his phone). And see if I can call him tomorrow night if he’s not busy. August is looming closer and closer in my mind, and I’d like to know if I’m heading out then (my original intent back when I promised myself this in January) or if I’m waiting until December and Christmas.
I’m ready. I’m ready to start fresh. I’m ready to be done here. The person I used to be might have had a future here. I don’t feel like I really do, or at least one that I’ll be truly satisfied with. But if Chicago isn’t in the cards, I’m persistent enough to make something of this.
You only get one life after all.