I was especially moved by this poem. It got me thinking about all of the journals I’ve written and what has and should happen to them. I wrote this as a comment…and my own words also had me thinking.
I was particularly fond of one journal that I kept through university…as I recall, I wrote down things while sitting on the bus. I always looked at people on the bus, even in the middle of winter, as candidates for a short story one day or even a novel. But along with those notes, were the notes of my personal challenges and dilemmas as a woman. Those were the parts of my journal that I wanted to disappear, so along with those, were tossed the descriptions that I so wanted to hold on to.
I didn’t burn that journal…instead, I went for a very long autumn walk through city alleys. (weird, I know) I wanted someone to pick up the anonymous messages of my heart…somehow…even the seagulls, if finally the journal made its way to the dump…I wanted the screeching birds to be witness to my life. So, eventually, I found a garbage can, an open one without a lid and I tossed my words and a piece of my heart into the wide open mouth and hoped the words would speak to someone. Thank you for the poem. It is ‘my kind’ of poetry and it really spoke to me, not just because of the subject, but because of its fumbling through the ‘inside fireplace and smoke’ types of moments.
I write in journals still. I always write with intention now, however, knowing full-well that one day some one may choose to read my words. I think it’s a big breakthrough when a writer first considers her readers. For example, a blog is a very public journal and authenticity only goes so far. There are limits to what writers write. There is a fine line between the facts and the fiction. Also, as I read entries by other writers, I keep in mind that I am privy to an image they wish to project, not necessarily their own image. Does that make sense?