Scraps of Myself

On my old blog I had been wanting to attempt something different... to write more; to pour myself onto the pages like I used to do when I wrote at least a poem a day. That was when I was young and so sure I was going to be in The Guiness Book of World Records for writing the most poetry. It is not about the number. I forget how many I'd written back then, but it was more than 17,000 or 21,000 the last time I checked. Never checked to see what the world record was for poetry. That part of me is bound in black & white spotted compostion books I'd bought at Woolworth's in the mall. They are on a special shelf at my mom's. My mom & I saw a shelf in home improvement magazine so we had one like it built by my friend Wesley. The last time I took them down to reread, I got really depressed. I realized in hindsight what a lonely teenager I was who was looking for love, mainly in the wrong faces. Back then I was going to write The Great American Novel and appear on Johnny Carson. Won't see ole Johnny now! I was going to write a book about all my men, but there were so few of them that it wouldn't sell like a Danielle Steele Novel. When I had my heart broken by the 2nd love of my life, he took away my way with words and I turned my creativity to art. So I became an artist of a sort. At times my muse would return and bless me with the gift of words for which I am thankful. That occured early Saturday morning on 11/22/06.

"Scraps"

I stand
Ripper in hand
I rip apart
the seams of myself
I fall to pieces
at what was
my own two feet
just scraps of myself.
A breeze blows
A bit of me here
A piece of me there,
Mrs. Humpty Dumpty, 2006
The RAV nevermore
who will care?
~Becky Bristow Voyles~
11/18/06 7:27 a. m.

Even when I wrote this on my other blog, I thought perhaps this wasn't the best poem to jump out the gate with, but I was proud of it like a mother who is proud of her child. My close friends have all seen my poetry before, none complained, thought me daft or a total lunatic. They all know I am a bit different which makes me unique. Please don't think I was depressed when it came to me that morning for I assure you I wasn't. It felt so good to be inspired after being dry for so long. I felt so alive. Even though I sounded down in it, I am proud of my words.



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