Writing is an indulgent pastime: I spend precious time sculpting my thoughts, unashamedly share them with others, then hope for approval. Because I write to express personal truths, my writing isn’t always easy to read. So, thank you to those who support me.
This sonnet is both self-indulgent and self-critical: it looks back at a time when I thought myself “a sage” when I was in fact “undeveloped”. It is a letter to someone who offered “sunshine” that could not “penetrate the shell” I was unaware, at the time, I wore.
This confused (or changing) self-knowledge is represented by a mixture of congruous and incongruous positioning of the personal pronoun “I”. At times it seems I know where to place the “I”, others I don’t.
Me not You When whispered I, “It’s me, it isn’t you,” I thought the words I hissed were justified – A valve undone enough to let lies through; But retrospect reveals, I had not lied. Your sunshine could not penetrate the shell I did not know I’d lived my life within; Your lava love to me was fiery hell Too fierce for my underdeveloped skin. How were you so mature when still so young? How so together, how so sure of heart? When I a fool spouting with serpent’s tongue Thought myself wise; a sage, seasoned and smart. Lone hindsight words are lame apology But you enrich my love anthology.