Published…

I entered a poem which I wrote in 2006 to my school’s literary magazine.  I was notified this week that they are going to print it.   I am oddly melacholy about this.  My first reaction was excitement but then those other feelings started creeping in.   The poem means so many different things to me.  Some feelings are good because literally taken it speaks to my love of gardening.  But there are other things.  Choosing to break off my first female relationship without ever meeting her.  Okay the truth was she dumped me.  I was torn to pieces at that time and it was hard to do even the smallest task.  I felt as if I was bleeding from an artery and no one could know.  I was married to a man.  I had realized a while ago before this women, that I was a lesbian.  I was certain I would stay married the rest of my life not being me.  That was horrifying.

I have closed two blogs with this poem.  The first blog was about my home life and children and husband.  I moved out of my home when someone outted me.  Knowing what I know now, it was probably the woman who dumped me.  Then began to take me in and out of hell for a few years.  Eventually,  I broke off the maddness.  To this day,  she pops up from time to time asking me if it time yet to talk to each other.  I just shake my head because there is nothing to say.  That is exactly what she gets,  nothing.  I closed the second blog the same way because although coming out is a continual happening,  I had nothing left to say about it.  I miss the family that I built from writing that blog.  There are several others but I just can’t keep the steam going for long…   my muse is gone.

Roses Fade

A lifetime of winters,
plotting the path of the sun.
futile some say,
for roses fade so fast.

With faith and my fingertips,
I tend cold sleeping soil.
futile some say,
for roses fade so fast.

Rejoicing at first bloom,
sprinkling ladybugs and wishes.
futile some say,
for roses fade so fast.

Bloodied hands,
they bite and scratch me.
futile some say,
for roses fade so fast.

I bleed, I tend, I believe,
to spend one splendid moment,
close to God’s perfect beauty.
not futile! that roses fade so fast.

~nina~
Still I shall take a bow….
WIN_20150509_000629
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