Today, in the process of organizing and decluttering my home, I went through a box filled with notes and cards from my past. Many things I had forgotten rose to the surface of my memory. One of these things was mail about the publication of a poem I had written. It was one of those vanity press publications where a plethora of poems from many individuals are published in a "deluxe hardbound edition" that they want to charge you an arm and a leg for. I never bought the book and I remember being a bit miffed when I discovered I had submitted my poem to such a website.
Anyhow, I started writing poetry when I was 8 and by the time I was 13, my carefree rhymes about candy and play had shifted to reflect the inner turmoil and self loathing I was going through as a result of deep depression. Though I am no longer in such all consuming darkness I still feel the weight of what I wrote in every piece (there are more than this) created during my teenage years. Though most of my teenage poetry is dark I still value it because going through and overcoming that darkness has molded me into who I am today. I wrote this when I was 13 or 14.
Delusion
The noble chin which held erect
the wrinkling face with faded smile;
like old jeans washed, starched and bleached,
now a thousand memories all removed
clouded as in sorrow filled eyes
swollen a moment, but all you could see
inside a mirror
where reflection hates reality.
Years of use for self annihilation
as you stare back
piercing cold glass to your core
your one friend because it cannot disagree,
and find now what you're looking for
visible only for want of it
this distortion that you love to see.
© Summer Owens 1994
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