It appears to have been a class project from 1978, that I stumbled upon over the weekend. Of course, it was a piece of my past saved by my mom; something I’d have never kept evidence of. It was a mini~ diary of sorts. It was the essence of me as a freshman in high school. Truly my first year of stretching out my limbs to the world and pulling in what I could from a small rural town in northwest Ohio.
It contains a short synopsis of boring school days and random thoughts for a mere 20 days of an awkward stage of growing and changing. In addition, favorite songs, television shows, books, etc. and the most unlikely thing to find tied to my youth, poems. Just two. And certainly not two of the best I would have written during my high school years. But given the seclusion I held my thoughts and words to, mostly by disposing of them, previous to this blog, it is strange (and hilarious) to see them written in my own hand. The ownership is too obvious to refute.
So, to honor my promise to share all, tell all (well, not exactly all) here, I shall bring the handwritten form from the ice cream social world of the late 70’s to the century of social media and the welcome invasion of other’s into our personal lives and thoughts. Though it may sound a harsh bashing, it is truly just the reality of how we now interact with the world and sometimes sort out where we are in it.
Though my poem is of an innocent and of a less chaotic time than present, the simplicity of my words are deep in the root of what we all still seek. Happiness. Love. Acceptance. Having someone to be in that same moment of understanding with us. This is why I wrote it. This is why I write. Mutual understanding. It goes a long way in a ever changing life of unknowns. It is certainly not a writing seated in depth and sustenance, but it has that innocence of seeking for something. A seeking that is just as rich and raw at fifty as it is at fifteen.
I have been thinking about us.
And I’ve thought of giving up.
But I know one must keep trying,
for true happiness to come.
It is the spirit that keeps me going,
Even when disappointment comes.
I will keep trying and I will keep waiting,
Until you receive this spirit too.
To keep trying to reach our happiness.
A happiness that will overflow.
You are so very unpredictable.
I can never imagine what your feelings will be.
Whether you’ll be looking for me or looking the other way.
Whether you’ll try to reach me or try to make me go away.
But one thing that I do know,
Is that I will always be here.
Waiting for you to try to reach me.
Waiting for you to look for me.
Then, we will be looking and reaching for each other.
A bit corny, I know. Not the best written piece either. But it pulls me back to that young, unfettered, non~bittered heart that does not yet know true, deep from the pits of hell, disappointment. There is so much hope and unrelenting strength that comes from the memory of that unblemished soul.
I believe, and it appears, that from this piece another was spawn.
I reach for you,
But you are not there.
I search for you,
But you I cannot find.
But one day, when we meet,
We will both be reaching and searching.
For each other.
And for love.
There ends the never before seen writings of a writer~wanna-be~in~hiding. I’m stlill unsure about coming out into the clearing.