Written Wednesday

I’m going to do something different this Wednesday and post some things I wrote a long, long time ago in high school. I used to be really into poetry–because I was in high school and dealing with the dark days of untreated OCD. Now, the rhyming and trying to get the emphasis right gives me a headache every time. But my husband’s aunt died last night and every time someone dies, my brain goes back to this poem I wrote in high school.

As I trace the inscribed stone

I reach for truth

I’ve always known:

that death

is for

the living.

Copyright © 2013 by Wendy Sparrow

And here is one I wrote because I was still trying to cover my OCD and, thus, my coping skills were crap because I was so desperate to hide it. I think this one freaked out my mom quite a bit. (Uhh, sorry, Mom.)

Here we stand for the family picture

with our seven picture-perfect smiles.

My brothers are both taller.

My parents stand in back.

I stand in the middle

trying not to move an inch

trying not to mess up this picture-perfect picture

of this picture-perfect family.

My brothers know just what to do,

but my painted-on smile is just not right.

Too quiet to be noticed.

Too loud to be understood.

We take another picture.

This’ll have to do.

I hold on to my sister

–too young to understand

everything must be just right

to fit into this picture-perfect picture.

Copyright © 2013 by Wendy Sparrow

One more? You want one more? Well, if you don’t, then you can stop reading. I won’t come to your house and force you to read more…today.

Lies are pretty pieces of string-

each tied to together to form a thing,

of such design and thorough weave,

even most honest men’ll believe.

Truth is the white string often caught

in the darkest, thickest, and blackest knot.

To brighten up your darkest dyes-

add a bit of truth to lies.

Copyright © 2013 by Wendy Sparrow

Oh, wait, one more. Why? Because I said so, and I AM MASTER HERE!!! BWAHAHAHA!  (I was going through an e. e. cummings phase with this one…it’s sort of adorable of young Wendy….)

here we stand on the white bleached beach,

drawing circles in the sand

hand

in hand

closing our eyes to the past

making promises that’ll

never last.

promises

promises

promises

Copyright © 2013 by Wendy Sparrow

Geez, I was a depressing poet. It’s strange and surreal to go back and read old stuff. Today, I’d change a bunch of things…but I wasn’t this person back then. I would end on something cheery but I’m really not seeing one. There’s one about a spider, but I’ll save that for another day. My short stories were a lot…more upbeat…weirder…something.

The picture up top is from a cemetery near my house that is on my running route. It’s small and quiet and perfect to sit and think in. I used to stop there whenever I’d get stuck in a plot. My allergies have been too bad for running recently, but I might restart when the kids go back to school. Hopefully, I’ll have a better handle on my allergies.

I have stuff I should get to….and miles to go before I sleep…but if you ever get the chance to look through things you wrote before, try not to judge your older stuff too harshly. You were a different person and that person had valid thoughts and feelings and was trying to express them. Plus, that person made you who you are today. They deserve credit, but also to be claimed with a copyright stamp. “I own you, old Wendy!!! Boom!  Copyright © 2013 by Wendy Sparrow indeed!”