Poetry Madness: Round Two

A  Sad Child

by Margaret Atwood

You're sad because you're sad.

It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.

Go see a shrink or take a pill,

or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll

you need to sleep.

Well, all children are sad

but some get over it.

Count your blessings. Better than that,

buy a hat. Buy a coat or pet.

Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?

Your sadness, your shadow,

whatever it was that was done to you

the day of the lawn party

when you came inside flushed with the sun,

your mouth sulky with sugar,

in your new dress with the ribbon

and the ice-cream smear,

and said to yourself in the bathroom,

I am not the favorite child.

My darling, when it comes

right down to it

and the light fails and the fog rolls in

and you're trapped in your overturned body

under a blanket or burning car,

and the red flame is seeping out of you

and igniting the tarmac beside you head

or else the floor, or else the pillow,

none of us is;

or else we all are.

Poetry Madness- Round One

Helen of Troy Does Countertop Dancing

by Margaret Atwood

The world is full of women
who'd tell me I should be ashamed of myself
if they had the chance. Quit dancing.
Get some self-respect
and a day job.
Right. And minimum wage,
and varicose veins, just standing
in one place for eight hours
behind a glass counter
bundled up to the neck, instead of
naked as a meat sandwich.
Selling gloves, or something.
Instead of what I do sell.
You have to have talent
to peddle a thing so nebulous
and without material form.
Exploited, they'd say. Yes, any way
you cut it, but I've a choice
of how, and I'll take the money.

I do give value.
Like preachers, I sell vision,
like perfume ads, desire
or its facsimile. Like jokes
or war, it's all in the timing.
I sell men back their worse suspicions:
that everything's for sale,
and piecemeal. They gaze at me and see
a chain-saw murder just before it happens,
when thigh, ass, inkblot, crevice, tit, and nipple
are still connected.
Such hatred leaps in them,
my beery worshippers! That, or a bleary
hopeless love. Seeing the rows of heads
and upturned eyes, imploring
but ready to snap at my ankles,
I understand floods and earthquakes, and the urge
to step on ants. I keep the beat,
and dance for them because
they can't. The music smells like foxes,
crisp as heated metal
searing the nostrils
or humid as August, hazy and languorous
as a looted city the day after,
when all the rape's been done
already, and the killing,
and the survivors wander around
looking for garbage
to eat, and there's only a bleak exhaustion.
Speaking of which, it's the smiling
tires me out the most.
This, and the pretence
that I can't hear them.
And I can't, because I'm after all
a foreigner to them.
The speech here is all warty gutturals,
obvious as a slab of ham,
but I come from the province of the gods
where meanings are lilting and oblique.
I don't let on to everyone,
but lean close, and I'll whisper:
My mother was raped by a holy swan.
You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.
That's what we tell all the husbands.
There sure are a lot of dangerous birds around.

Not that anyone here
but you would understand.
The rest of them would like to watch me
and feel nothing. Reduce me to components
as in a clock factory or abattoir.
Crush out the mystery.
Wall me up alive
in my own body.
They'd like to see through me,
but nothing is more opaque
than absolute transparency.
Look--my feet don't hit the marble!
Like breath or a balloon, I'm rising,
I hover six inches in the air
in my blazing swan-egg of light.
You think I'm not a goddess?
Try me.
This is a torch song.
Touch me and you'll burn.

oh, how I have not missed blogging

On a gloomy Sunday morning I begrudgingly rolled out of bed and headed out into the fog to self-reflect. Clad in an unfortunate ensemble of the only clothes I'd thought to pack (pom-pom hat, relic-of-the-nineties windbreaker, sweatpants, and aqua-socks included) I was grateful that the island was nearly deserted. Having spent the past six months avoiding the big "what comes next" question like the plague, this was admittedly not an ideal assignment for me. However, in the best interest of my grade I bundled up and resolved to think about some stuff. On my walk, in addition to some deep contemplation of personal issues (I'll get back to those), I found myself marveling at the scenery around me. Not particularly spectacular or aesthetically pleasing, especially in dense fog, but refreshing in a bracing and chilly sort of way. This is the location of so many fond childhood memories: countless icy swims, clam digs, bonfires, camp-outs, and  canoe rides.  Now I'm trudging along the same shore with eighteen years of memories in my heart pondering my future endeavors and innermost thoughts. It is a wonderfully calming feeling to know that I have always had and always will have a place of sanctuary and seclusion especially in this season of great change and uncertainty.

*WARNING: the rest of this has absolutely nothing to do with the accompanying pictures*

 I also thought about myself a great deal. I thought about all the things that dominate my life, that I obsess over: my attitude, my intelligence, my physical flaws, my emotional shortcomings, the way I view others, and  how I am perceived. Some of which I have control over, others I don't. Any sort of introspective activity usually sends me into a downward spiral of negative and self-deprecating  thinking, so I shifted my focus in a bit of a preemptive strike.
 Then, because this assignment is inherently spiritual, I reflected on my rather non-existent walk with Christ. I took a good look at the overall skepticism and indifference that influence my perspective of religious activity and spirituality and how little I am bothered my lack of faith and interest.
And then I thought about how content I am with all of that. I think I've finally reached that place in life where I realize that I am always going to have stuff to work on. I'm never going to be perfectly happy all the time and my life will never go exactly the way I want it to, but whose does?  I'll always have problems and doubts and anxiety and baggage and insecurities. Who I am right now is imperfect and impulsive. I'm terrified and excited for my future at the same time and that's okay. I don't have to pick just one emotion to feel about this whole growing up business because, after all, complex people are the most interesting.

                       

Playing Devil's Advocate

I am not a villain nor am I an unreasonable man. I did not deny my nephew a proper burial; I denied a traitor a proper burial. Polynices betrayed me. He betrayed his city. Above all he betrayed the gods who, in their divine power, appointed me ruler of Thebes. Is that the sort of man who deserves to be honored and publicly lamented? I made my position on the matter clear from the beginning of this disaster. I plainly stated that Polynices "came back from exile to burn and destroy his fatherland and the gods of his fatherland, to drink the blood of his kin, to make them slaves- he is to have no grave, no burial, no mourning from anyone; it is forbidden" (131).  

Antigone initiated this ill-fated feud. She could have mourned her treacherous sibling in silence, but instead insisted upon defying my decree and sending the city of Thebes into a spiral of discord and dissension. Wretched Oedipus and his cursed offspring brought this tragedy upon my household.  It was Antigone's stubborn refusal to submit to my authority and subsequent criminal activity that are to blame.

I had already issued the edict when I learned of Antigone's defiance. Was I to retract my own mandate and be made foolish by a woman? "[I'll] have no woman's law here, while I live" (140). Thebes had just resolved a gruesome conflict, I could not back down on the first law I'd made since victory. My people needed a strong and steadfast ruler to lead them out of strife. And I provided them with one. An unreliable leader can be dangerous in a time of crisis. If I withdrew my sovereign order and exhibited weakness, the whole city would descend back into chaos.  Antigone had to be punished.

Unfortunately the gods ordained that I too must pay for my stubborn will and dedication to punishing the wicked and disloyal.  “Upon my head [they have] delivered this heavy punishment” (160).  I have now lost everything and everyone.  I made my decision and  I must live with it for the rest of my tragic days.

Signed,

Creon

King of Thebes

so I guess I'm a complex individual...

A girl sits cross-legged on the floor surrounded by a disarray of crumpled papers, dirty tea mugs, and discarded socks. She absentmindedly bites her lip in concentration as she scribbles furiously on a yellow legal pad, breaking her focus only to run her fingers through her unkempt hair. She then turns and scowls at the laptop screen filled with important deadlines, lengthy application forms, and impending grown-up responsibilities. With loathing in her eyes she slams the lid shut and stares at the still largely unfinished to-do list. She stomps over to the bookshelf and heaves a mountain of heavy textbooks into her arms before slumping to the ground and responsibly resuming her task. 

Several hours later, she suddenly sits up straight as the sound of the bedroom door down the hallway finally closing for the night reaches her ears. Throwing off the blanket draped Indian style around her shoulders she scampers to the door and, after furtively looking both ways, her footie-pajama clad figure disappears around the corner. 

Two brown eyes twinkling with mischief peer into the dimly lit kitchen. Methodically, the girl opens cupboard after cupboard searching for some elusive hidden object. With a look of fierce determination she hoists herself up onto the counter, as to more effectively search the last and most lofty cabinet. She rifles through the contents of the shelves and emerges with a  triumphant smirk and large bag of candy labeled "off limits until Halloween!" 

She waltzes triumphantly back to her room, forbidden loot in hand, snickering gleefully at the two oblivious people asleep behind the other door. After kicking the now long forgotten clutter of schoolwork out of her way, she stashes her hoard behind her pillow, pops a Disney movie into the DVD player, and lovingly arranges her stuffed animals so they can also view the featured presentation. With a sock monkey under the crook of one arm and a pile of candy under the other she snuggles down to watch the film, her eyes welling up with tears of contentment and nostalgia as the familiar story of Lady and the Tramp begins to unfold on the screen. Slowly she begins to drift off, a very childlike seventeen-year-old fast asleep in a nest of illicit empty candy wrappers.  

Personal Statement.

I was a troubled child to say the least.  Outward appearances indicated an emotionally healthy high school freshman who received excellent grades and maintained positive relationships with her teachers and peers. Behind this glossy veneer, however,  a completely different me existed. Years of suppressed resentment, anger, and insecurity manifested themselves in explosive outbursts, violent rage, and bouts of depression. My seemingly happy only child home became a toxic war zone and I was to blame. Eventually it became clear that an intervention of sorts was in order and I found myself on my way to a therapeutic wilderness survival program.

Upon arriving in the desert, I promptly recognized just how out of place I felt. Never before had I been so completely terrified, alone, and helpless.  The girls that I learned I would be spending all of my time with had landed in the program for a colorful variety of transgressions, and I hastened to brand them "delinquents" and with an air of absurd superiority isolate myself from the group.  My first memories after being dropped off in the wilderness and waking from the fog of sheer panic and disbelief are declaring the place a "sadistic Girl Scout camp" and being spit on by a llama which I then denounced as a "foul beast." I later learned that these pompous proclamations endeared me to my group-mates and would make for entertaining campfire conversation and impersonations for new arrivals. 

I frantically wrote home begging to be "rescued". I adamantly insisted that I did not deserve to be deprived of basic luxuries nor had my behavior warranted such harsh conditions. When it became clear that my pleas were going to go unanswered I decided to adopt the strategy that worked so well in the other areas of my life. I had long ago determined that if I pretended to have it all together, my pretense would become my reality and everything would be okay. So I feigned contrition and submissively completed my curriculum. I methodically calculated a list of steps to help me get out of the program more quickly and do as little self-reflection as possible. I didn't yet understand that what I so desperately needed was a change of heart and no amount of scheming or evasion tactics could achieve that. 

Spoiler alert: my evil plan didn't work, but that's not the end of my story. 


Little by little I noticed a transformation occurring. Through a series of emotional discussions and confrontations my eyes were opened to the kinship I was developing with the other girls. Although we expressed our brokenness in different ways and came from very different family, socioeconomic, religious, and cultural backgrounds we formed a bond that is unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Those relationships introduced me to a level of diversity previously nonexistent in my private school bubble, heightened my sense of awareness, and taught me valuable lessons in tolerance and compassion. They quickly became the most deeply meaningful friendships of my life up to that point.

Once my assimilation into the desert culture was complete my entire perspective began to shift dramatically. My once despairing and negative attitude toward the situation gave way to tenacity and perseverance. The desert that I had initially seen as a dead, arid, prison became a beautiful source of energy and strength. I embraced the bi-weekly showers, program issued outfit, and rationed meals. I began to articulate my feelings constructively and eagerly honed my survival skills. I discovered my leadership potential by directing and motivating my companions in our daily tasks and grueling hikes. I was pleasantly surprised when I was asked to mentor a younger girl who needed help composing letters home and to encourage positive behavior in her as she was notorious for causing conflict and disruption within the group.

 Forty-three days later, I was ready to venture back into the real world and rejoin society. Only then was I able to take responsibility for my actions, rebuild my family, and apologize to those I had wronged. I had left my life bitter and hostile and was finally able to return confident and renewed with a passion for service, leadership, and a strong desire to put into practice the lessons I had learned. 

The rough desert terrain and primitive existence perfectly reflected my raw and untamed emotions. Although it was overwhelming I came to understand that I was exactly where I belonged in order to come to grips with the reality of what I was and who I wanted to be.

Affirmation Solicitations

Assertive
Analytical
Fun/Funny
Mature
Intelligent

"She is diligent, resourceful, intelligent, and an excellent problem solver. She also possesses a maturity beyond her years which comes out in her refined tastes, her intelligent wit and humor, her incredibly perceptive insight, and her self awareness. Unlike many teens her age, Sonia has an understanding of the various trials of her life, and how her own strengths and weaknesses impact her psychologically, and can then weigh her decisions with that knowledge."

 "Sonia has a great sense of herself. She is confident and assertive, but she is also able to recognize boundaries and her own weaknesses. She is intelligent and creative, but remains open to constructive criticism. I would say that one of her best qualities is that she is interesting. She is usually very conversational and has the ability to cultivate depth in those interactions. She knows when to listen and when to encourage." 

Thank you thank you to the lovely people who wrote these affirmations. Thanks for taking the time to notice these qualities that I really hope I actually possess and write them down.