The Hopeful Poet
Since I left my parents' home in 1968, I have moved more times than I can count on all fingers and a few toes. Recently, for the umpteenth time in 42 years, I went through a box of stuff that I have dragged from place to place. For the umpteenth time, I was surprised to find a folder of poems and essays I had written during high school.
Time has come to get rid of things that will be viewed as clutter when my life is over -- things that someone will toss away without a second thought. That's a morbid statement, though it isn't meant to be. As Micky (Vicky) would say, "that's all a part of it."
Being introspective to a fault, I have been analyzing my reasons for keeping this stuff all these years, even as I hold the folder over the trash can and will my hand to let go. I can't do it!
What I have concluded is that the desire to be recognized for my writing was every bit as strong as my fear of rejection. To have something so personal be rejected would have been the kiss of death for the self esteem of a young poet.
And so I hoarded my treasures until the time came (not that long ago) when I realized that rejection of my talents by others, as Diane would say, "just don't matter."
So with my newfound courage to publish, I revisit myself at 15, and share a common frustration of growing up :
Young Love
by Kathy Gail Collins
September, 1965
Don't laugh when I say I'm in love
Don't grin and turn away
Remember when your heart was young?
You were in love and gay
Of course it's funny to you now
But was it at the time?
It's just as real as real can be
This precious love of mine
Soon it will go away, you say
But while it lasts, it's real
I see you can remember now,
You know just how I feel!
I have also realized that, by reading my thoughts expressed in my own words as a teenager, I remember myself exactly as I was then, and the memories are good..
Time has come to get rid of things that will be viewed as clutter when my life is over -- things that someone will toss away without a second thought. That's a morbid statement, though it isn't meant to be. As Micky (Vicky) would say, "that's all a part of it."
Being introspective to a fault, I have been analyzing my reasons for keeping this stuff all these years, even as I hold the folder over the trash can and will my hand to let go. I can't do it!
What I have concluded is that the desire to be recognized for my writing was every bit as strong as my fear of rejection. To have something so personal be rejected would have been the kiss of death for the self esteem of a young poet.
And so I hoarded my treasures until the time came (not that long ago) when I realized that rejection of my talents by others, as Diane would say, "just don't matter."
So with my newfound courage to publish, I revisit myself at 15, and share a common frustration of growing up :
Young Love
by Kathy Gail Collins
September, 1965
Don't laugh when I say I'm in love
Don't grin and turn away
Remember when your heart was young?
You were in love and gay
Of course it's funny to you now
But was it at the time?
It's just as real as real can be
This precious love of mine
Soon it will go away, you say
But while it lasts, it's real
I see you can remember now,
You know just how I feel!
I have also realized that, by reading my thoughts expressed in my own words as a teenager, I remember myself exactly as I was then, and the memories are good..
