Weekly Confessional

I did not keep a journal when I was a young person. You know, before I was completely tarnished by time and consumed with bitterness. (The bitterness is subsiding slowly)

I do have a VERY. LARGE. stack of poems that I have accumulated since those tender years. Some of them are very embarrassing probably worse than if I had kept journal entries instead of putting my own sad, adolescent spin on my day-to-day feelings. I am contemplating sharing some of them in my weekly confessionals and some of the not-so-embarrassing ones may pop in from time to time.

When I was young, the thought of writing down what happened every day was very overwhelming and rather boring to me. I just couldn’t do it for more than a day or two. My mind spun so fast when I was young I could not concentrate long enough to write out an entire journal entry.

With the incredibly horrible memory that I have now as an adult sometimes I wish I would have been able to do this.

I would much rather sit and daydream and listen to music or draw or paint. OR many times I would write a poem about it. It was and still very much is a therapeutic way for me to deal with things. Most of the time after I have written about something I feel so much better afterwards. It doesn’t matter if I ever end up sharing it or not. The act of sitting down and writing it out or typing it out really helps me focus.

Wait. That was pretty confusing – how can I sit down and focus on writing a poem and not be able to keep a journal? Journals feel like homework; putting a creative spin on something is easier for me. Go figure.

Ok here we go. I wrote the below poem in 10th grade for an english assignment. It was one of those rare moments as a teenager that I was pretty honest with myself.

I am who I am

I wonder how people can be prejudice

I hear things I don't want to here

I want everyone to see through people's outward appearances

I am who I am

I pretend I like some people

I feel fat

I touch the sky in my dreams

I worry too much about my hair

I cry sometimes for no reason

I am who I am

I understand I am not perfect

I say too much sometimes

I dream of a perfect love

I hope I do everything I want to do before I die

I am who I am

--teenage Brandy (long before the zen master flash was even a thought)

Hahaa!

I got this one in today with 30 minutes to spare.

Read more Weekly Confessionals here.