Graduate school has turned out to be so much more than I expected it to be. Now that I've completed two semesters of graduate work, I'm sitting here thinking, "What the hell was I thinking???" Friends tell me all the time, "How do you do it??" Honestly, I have no idea. Actually, I do. I have a supportive husband and family. I have professors who believe in me and I have God. This was truly a challenging semester - at one point I thought I wouldn't get through it. Perseverence won. I don't pretend to do things right all the time, or even half the time, but I do what I can the best way I know how.
Anyway, this semester I took a graduate poetry class - yes, poetry. I hate poetry. Always have. I'm not Shakespeare, and I'm not going to come up with some monumental line like, "Romeo, Romeo, where-for-art-thou Romeo"...I just won't. I'd probably be more likely to say, "Hey Johnny, where the hell are you?" as I yell across HEB. BUT, believe it or not, somewhere, in the midst of my anti-poetry parade, I actually learned something. I learned I CAN write poetry. I DON'T have to be Will (Shakespeare, if you missed that one) or Robert Frost, I can just be me. So, in honor of this new batch of cornbread, I've decided to share with my blogger audience, all 10 of you (that I secretly love and are so happy to have on my page), a little something I concocted for my final poetry manuscript. I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it. Enjoy!
In-Titled?
You should pay attention to what I say and what I quote –
To the lines in my head and the songs in my heart,
To the cases on my shelf and the discs in my player.
Listen to me and you’ll learn who I am –
It isn’t hard to do – and it’s nothing really new.
I’m no Pretty Woman, with thigh-high leather boots and red curly hair;
I don’t parade around in stilettos,
but I do dye my strands a golden flax,
although I’m not Legally Blonde.
I believe everything happens for a reason,
and there is a time and place for it all,
however, there’s never A Time to Kill or even to Kill Bill.
I’m no man, and I’m not made of iron – so don’t call me Iron Man.
I know I’m not Invincible, but I do think I am strong –
but I’m from the country, so does that make me Country Strong?
I like flowers, different kinds of flowers, even flowers made of steel –
you could send me a bouquet of Steel Magnolias and I’d be happy…
but I don’t like the colors blush or bashful,
because it’s really just pink, and I hate pink.
I don’t think I’m Pretty in Pink,
but I’ve always wanted to work in a record store,
or work in a mall. I did once,
in a men’s store, and I stole a pair of socks –
I know, Despicable Me.
I love the classics, even the ones in black and white,
and while Ms. Hepburn gave us a place to have breakfast,
it was in Sabrina that I found a savior.
I thought I wanted a Streetcar Named Desire,
or maybe even be a Hustler,
but instead I opted to be a Graduate
and stayed clear of any Robinson’s.
I like spontaneity and adventure – but I’m no Goonie
and so you won’t find me near a pirate ship or acting all kinds of looney!
I’m a Cast Away from the outskirts, a small town down south,
and while things were sometimes rough and unfair,
it was usually easy as apple pie – maybe even some American Pie –
but my mother is no M.I.L.F.
We celebrated family, and life, and loss.
We celebrated reunions, dis-unions, and just plain old unions –
they were always Big and Fat, but never Greek –
just your average Wedding in the sticks.
Birthdays were never forgotten
and milestones were a reason to party hard –
but my sixteen was just another day,
just a small cake and only one candle;
oh how I dreamed of a cake with Sixteen Candles, on top of a glass table
and sitting with him – whoever HIM was.
My childhood was about family and God and community and food.
Then it was time to go, when I heard my mom say,
“You’ve Got Mail”, and so I left.
I was Dazed and Confused, but not like that.
Sure, it was Risky Business,
but I met a Few Good Men, and only one was named Gerry.
We started a Club, but not during Breakfast,
it was “demented and sad, but social”.
I tried to Walk the Line, but I always seemed to fail,
ending up in a Face/Off with the woman who wasn’t a M.I.L.F.
At the Twilight of these years, it was time for the party to end,
and even though I wouldn’t graduate With Honors,
I knew I would “graduate life with honor and without regret”.
Now, what seems like 300 years later, My Life is what it is.
Sure, I got Knocked Up, and I have a baby daddy, a Big Daddy,
and he knows how to wipe his own ass.
I’m a member of the First Wives Club,
and I hope it’s the last club I join.
I was a Princess Bride,
and I’ve even learned to say “as you wish”.
I’ve given plenty of people Something to Talk About,
but sometimes I just feel like shouting, “What about me Ray?”
My life is a whirlwind of excitement and structure,
routine and chaos –
I tend to live life Too Fast and Too Furious –
but no more Bad Boys and
wondering what I’m gonna do when they come for me.
I don’t worry about the Color of Money
or giving a Two Weeks Notice every six months.
I turn to Rudy for the hope and inspiration I sometimes desperately need.
I inducted myself into a Society of Dead Poets
and struggle through every moment
in trying to “seize the day”.
I look at my husband and my girls, and I’m awestruck,
sometimes even Moonstruck,
but they don’t call me Mommy Dearest.
I may not always let Hope Float, and yes,
my girls will always hear that
“once upon time their momma knew what it meant to shine”.
But I’ll live my life a day at a time,
me as the Beauty and him as the Beast –
and people will say, “hey Johnny, Be Good”,
or something at least!
So this is my story, and you had nothing to gain,
But like a Gladiator once asked, “Were you not entertained?”
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