Thursday, March 8, 2012

trading up

I was looking through my poetry manuscript. As I've mentioned before, I feel sliced open in the pages. It isn't perfect, the poems aren't perfect but they are honest. Maybe at times too honest. I've never written for anyone else, nor have a tried to. I am not a "educated" poet or writer in the traditional sense. I didn't finish school, nor have I had any interest in going back. My writing is mine, imperfect as it sometimes is.

As I was going through the manuscript I saw that it really is a testament to my twenties. All of my heartbreak and growth, travel, exploration of self and psyche are in those pages. Some of it makes me blush, or even cringe a little. But it was who I was at the time. A lot of it isn't auto-biographical even thought it feels that way. I tried writing in persona a lot. Anyway. I'm pretty fascinated by it.

Sometimes I worry I'm becoming a bit of a hermit or bow too often to my solitarian self. I find myself less and less satisfied with social interaction. I'm bored easily by most conversation. When I'm out interacting with others I feel I'm letting myself waste away the hours I could be writing or contemplating. Or maybe I need new friends. I have good, solid friends but they are adults in their lives; they're parents, in partnerships, chasing their own dreams. Or I can just continue loving my solitude. The thing is, when I do interact socially I feel like an alien from another planet. Not that I'm uncomfortable but I live a life very much of my own making and I have little in common with others.

I saw my face in direct sunlight recently and saw for the first time that I am aging. I love it. I love the lines and defined muscles from a lifetime of smiling, emoting. I'm rather skinny these days so the lack of fat in my face exposes the edges, the bones and way skin is stretched across them. I have this interesting bone in my forehead that is a Huerta trait. I never really noticed it until I was in Mexico at the ranch and a half-aunt pitied me for it. Ah, you have that Huerta forehead, what a shame. There is a defined ridge where my brow bone meets my skull. It is subtle but now that I know about it I see it every day. The Huerta forehead. I kind of love my Huerta forehead.

1 comment:

Marcos said...

I hope you don't lose faith in that collection. I don't think it's imperfect or 'too' anything. I think it's incredible. It's an excellent collection.