The Blood & The Bones

I am made up of three… Poet, Lover and Mother.

I cannot give you everything as I am still sorting that out myself but here is some of what I know…

Part 1: The Poet

I write all day…. In my head, voice notes, on my blog, in my journal, scraps of paper, on my phone. Every minute something is begging to be arranged in letters. Some thoughts sharable. Some most will never see. I don’t talk like a poet. I don’t give myself to all in that way. It is difficult to verbally articulate what I’m feeling and I will always holdback more than I give. I like being a contradiction aesthetically and intellectually. But, if you tap into the other side of me, I will take you for a ride that will ensure I am unforgettable. I have a lot to teach others but it is earned.

A southern girl who got out of a small town after high school, I saw bits and pieces of the world and came back home after I learned enough about others to become a better version of myself. I am always seeking adventure and to learn and to become more. This craving began as a child. I spent summers roaming library stacks as this was free and safe childcare. I started reading and writing at a young age. I was inspired to write because this was the most beautiful way to escape my childhood.

My whole life I have devoured anything I could find on mythology, serial killers, history and dark fantasy.

My vintage soul is drawn to every age before this one. I would give anything to spend a day loving a warrior god, being the muse for a Renaissance painting, having tea with Mary Shelley, being a nurse in the wards of WW1, drinking champagne with Gatsby or doing the jitterbug in a wiggle skirt making eyes at Elvis. Or even simply go back to the age of watching She-Ra in my undies eating cereal in front of the tv. Anything in a time other than now. I want to be a part of that history. I want to feel and experience everything even if it hurts. I have never felt that I was of this day and age.

I love odd things like bigfoot and war stories. I can write a book on proper pancakes, mental warfare and not knowing how to play chess. I find peace in being barefoot in forests or naked in river water fed by waterfalls. I pick up rocks when I want to remember a time or place. I know too much about things others think is weird. I love this about myself.

My hair has been all the colors of the rainbow… it is rebellious art I wear. Just like my tattoos and red lips. I started with these expressions late in life. I’ve never felt happier.

The darkness in me loves gore, dirt and sex. And I dig writing about things others would not. There is a light in me as well. One that loves pressed peonies and doing good deeds. The duality in me is hard to understand sometimes. I tried to fit in boxes pushed at me for most of my life until I realized boxes are prisons. I liberated myself after becoming a mother. I wanted him to be authentic and so, the best way to encourage this was to start with me.

I love and hate parts of me equally. I am messy and disorganized in my head. I write to sort it out, to clean it up and then once it’s written, I start again.

I am a poet. Not a writer. There is a difference. Being a a poet is beautiful and tragic at the same time. It is the part of me I’ll never give up or give away because it completes me.

LL