LisaMore

Writing What Is Me

Fuck You. I’m Expressive.

There are many things over the course of my 26 years that I have to come to realize but none as freeing and heartbreaking as my realization last night. When I was 19, I met this guy who was everything to me but he was different from all the others. We both were crazy about each other. He was in New Orleans for two days and before he left he made sure to tell me how he felt and that he wanted to keep talking to me. He lived in Chicago and was 25. We were so smitten with each other. We even planned our future together. Then I did something absolutely crazy and out-of-pocket. I got all emotional and started making a problem out of nothing because he didn’t answer the phone. I left a poem on his voicemail. It freaked him out. Never the same after that. It hurt my feelings but at the same time I shouldn’t have done that. This guy I thought was everything quickly became nothing. That one moment, forever changed everything about me. I stopped writing poetry. It was my release from all things in life and I did it everyday. After that situation, I blamed poetry, my writing, for the downfall of the man who was supposed to be my future husband. I no longer yearned or craved the pen and paper like before. Writing became sporadic and unfocused. I developed anxiety. It took so long to let him guy, truly let him go. It’s taking a lot of me to be truthful and honest that a guy had that much control over me but I was 19. Young and dumb. Love was all I wanted but his love was not what I deserved.I’m happy I realized that even if it took almost 10 years.

I’m one for my life experiences being a lesson for others as well as myself. Many other relationships have happened and have slayed me but none like this. I’ve finally allowed myself to forgive and forget. I’ve forgiven those who do not know how to fully express themselves. Expression is harder than most people realize. I can’t be mad or fault someone because they don’t know how. If it is important, they will find a way for that expression to happen. I will no longer apologize for being expressive of how I feel, even if others don’t understand it. It is who I am. I can no longer expect to be great based off the idea of what greatness is from others. At 26, I can finally say “Fuck You. I’m Expressive.”

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