The Poetic Life

Poetry used to be a much bigger part of my life.  As a teen and even into my early 20s I wrote a fair bit of it.  Looking back, not much of it is worth repeating and will most likely ever see the light of day again but it was a huge outlet for me at the time.  I don't know if anyone else ever did this but I actually exchanged poetry with a few people and would almost have a type of poetic banter. 

One of the most embarrassing things to happen to me in those days was when a guy from school had a rose and a poem delivered to my house... when I was not there... that was accepted by my father.  On the flip side of that, a boyfriend I had wrote one of the most beautiful things about me that I think I have ever received.  Though it was when I was 18 I can still quote it word for word.  It was so touching and for a girl with low self esteem it actually really caught me off guard and did amazing things for the way I saw myself... until he ruined it.  The mutual friend that had introduced us was talking with him and commented that I loved the poem he had written about me.  His reaction to that was, "Oh, she thought I wrote it about her?"  Now you haven't heard the poem and I won't repeat it here but it made obvious reference to me.  It talked about my hair colour (of that time), my partiality towards wearing a number of rings as well as my love of singing.  It was obviously about me.  Then, not 3 weeks after giving me the poem he broke up with me and I never got an explanation of why.  So what did I think about the word he had written then?  I disregarded them.  I took them as creative licence and rather than believe the beauty of the word.  I suspected that it was something the matter with me when I should have instead held on to the words and acted as if I believed in them.

Poetry can have such a sway on us and be such an outlet for the tumultuous emotions of youth.  As I have gotten older it has seemed that my turning towards poetry has lessened and lessened.  It's only been recently that so many things have brought it back to mind.  One of those things was finding the for mentioned ex boyfriend poem when I was looking for something.  Someone suggested I should write again but for me I find it almost a frame of mind that I must place myself in.  As few things got me thinking a little more the other day however and I did write something the other night.  I had just been to see Snow White and the Huntsman (it was alright) and the thought of beauty was on my mind, then I heard a song that was so touching and a little inspiration hit.  This is what I wrote.

To Inspire

 To inspire desire and a flourish of love would make this poor heart complete,

But my fear is the beauty of youth will expire and my image will never compete. 

So quickly, to pen and please capture this flash if there is even one to revile. 

Though in doubt, I do sit, at my knack to inspire in a world where so much is unreal.

Could you write me a love song?  Would the words come out all wrong? Is there merit deep down in my pith?

Or is passion a whim and a fancy of youth, fantasy for the making of myth.

 I know, I know it's sort of sad.  You have to know everything I write is sort of sad.  That's really the only way I do know how to write.  In fact my English teacher in high school asked me if I was suicidal.  He also accused me of plagiarism in almost the same sentence.  Maybe not the best tactic to take with someone if you believe them to be suicidal.  Also, maybe not the best way to ask them but I digress. 

Has anyone else had this sort of relationship with poetry?  Did you write and exchange it with friends?  Is this just an odd sort of experience reserved to myself?