Yo? Escribiendo un tiempo mas?

Last night I wrote a new poem.

I haven't written a new poem in ages.

I haven't had real inspiration in ages.

Its very strange, though, that it was anger that motivated me. I haven't been motivated by anger in a long time, and it was kind of frightening, disturbing really, to encounter that side of me.

But he called me a siren.

I am not a person of small conscience, I am generally prone to large guilt trips, and I never manage to hurt someone without feeling equally the pain I have inflicted upon them. So to claim that I did it purposefully, that I meant to shatter him again and again.......that is uncalled for. That is foul, in every sense of the word.

I know what I did to him. I know that he is the way he is because of me. However, even though I know it's no excuse, we were young. Stupid. Extremely misguided. I didn't even know myself well enough to know what I really wanted or needed or felt called to do. And clearly he didn't know me either.

I was never an angel, and I could never really save him from the pit of his despair. He needed much more than me - he needed faith, and he needed to confront what haunted him most, his loneliness, and make peace with it. Perhaps I gave him the path to both. Perhaps neither. Either way, the girl in his stories is not me. Maybe he saw what he wanted, needed to see. But what I've learned is that you cannot pretend to be someone beyond yourself for the sake of someone else, at least not for long, and still be truly happy and healthy.

Although some of that season was wonderful and some was torturous, the biggest part of it was that I learned the importance of identity. So let me tell you, now, about myself:

I am not your fair-haired angel set aside to gather moss
I am not your savior left alone upon a cross
I am not your siren calling you to your grave
Nor am I your helpless damsel waiting to be saved.

So do not look for me on a pedestal for all the world to admire
Do not look for me on a hillside, waiting for the burning fire
Do not look for me in the ocean, crying from the rocks
Do not look for me in a tower, letting down my locks

Once I was what you were looking for, or at least, I tried to be
But that was not the truth, nor will it ever be.

For I am in the fields, and in the trees, and in the sky
I am in the rushing river and the wind that breezes by
I am in everything that is at peace when wild and free
That is all I ever was, and all I ever hope to be

So do not drown me with your worship, do not bind me with your ties
I am not, nor was I ever that goddess in your eyes.


shalom,
jane