I don't usually write explanations for my poetry; I like the words to speak for themselves, but in the case of these three poems, I'll make an exception. About three months ago, I made the choice to leave home and attend University across the country. It was a very painful time for me. My parents were remorseful to see me go, but even more heavy was the fact that my choice in leaving meant the termination of my one and a half year relationship with a boy I was madly in love with. This boy has been the inspiration for a good half of all my poetry on this site. Now, I am one week away from traveling home for Christmas, and though I am very excited to see my family and friends, I also have a foreboding sense of dread. I come from a small community, and it is as difficult to boycott someone as it is for two fish in the same bowl to hide from one another. And so, I have to be prepared that at some point or another our paths may cross. And I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Let me first say that said boy actually hasn't even been on my mind recently. Getting over a break-up is a lot like having the hiccups. It's the most annoying and frustrating thing in the world, but the moment you forget about them, they are gone! The same was true for my missing of my old boyfriend. One day, it just stopped. But last Tuesday, as I was gayly frolicking through the freshly fallen snow with a copper-headed guy I'm particularly fond of, he mentioned how excited he is to be going home and rage at his ex-girlfriend for being a giant b*tch, and then asked me how I felt about going home to see my ex. It hit me then like a snowball to the face – I may be seeing my ex-boyfriend sooner than I assumed. I thought I would be counting down the days, perfecting my body so I'd look hot as hell and show him all that he's missing, but instead it snuck up on me, like a blizzard at midnight.
A whirl wind of melodramatic emotions too extreme for me to bear welled up inside me, so I did what any mature University student does. I found my gay guy friends, a bottle of whiskey, and once the whiskey was gone we proceeded to the pub. The night went as follows: me raging about my ex-boyfriend for all the wrong he has committed, me bemoaning my status as still being single even though I have found my Ginger soul mate, me laughing about how ridiculous relationships are and proudly parading my single title, me getting dragged out of the bar by my friends because too many guys were trying to get in my pants, me running back into the bar to do more shots, me limping home, weeping over the fact that I actually don't hate my ex, and that I'm scared I was the "bad guy" in our relationship, me sitting in a puddle and refusing to move, me being carried home and tucked into bed, with strong instruction to stay put.
I woke up the next day around noon with a headache of death and missing one shoe, but I had learned two very important lessons. The first is that beer and whiskey do not mix. But the second, and the more important one, is that I'm actually okay with going home, regardless of the what the outcome is when it comes to running into my ex. Because I've realized – and I've known this for a long time – I no longer have any feelings for him. It would be easy to hate him and rant about all the times he has hurt me and what an a**hole he is, but then, so was I. And it's easy to get all bleary-eyed as I think about the good times, but those times don't have to be a source of sadness. I can look at them out of context, cherish them, and smile.
I'm not the kind of person who likes to "move on". I keep things long past their expiry date because I have this silly fear of "losing". Yet, usually the items either dissolve or break in my grasp without me even noticing. It reminds me of the time I was learning to ride a bike, and my parents promised they'd hold on the seat, and so off I peddled, and when I looked back and didn't see my dad I crashed. And the moral of that story is that I was actually holding myself up all along but didn't believe I could truly do it alone. Depression, sadness, angst, anger, hate, love – all of these have become dangerous crutches of mine. And though they inspired most, if not all, of my best poetry, I'm learning not to let them go, but accept that I actually have let them go a long time ago and now I am fine on my own.
The reason I selected these three poems is because they were written six months before I moved away and my relationship with my boyfriend ended. To me, they summarize our relationship and my needs, and it is my own way of seeking closure. And if you, my friend, are going through, or have gone through any case of loss, whether it's a lover or a pet, I can promise you this, it does get better. As a wise friend of mine always reminds me: "this too shall pass." and it does.
I guess this is a little morbid for holiday love, but I hope you all have a very Merry Christmas! And rest assured, the poetry isn't going anywhere. There will be a HUGE influx if I do actually cross paths with the dreaded EX. Kidding! :P
Much love, keep writing, and thank you again so, so much for reading.