I seemed to have stopped writing in the recent years. I feel like writing is a window into our heart, and I have been unwilling to open that window and let anyone see in. I think I have felt disappointed in myself, or maybe that other people have been disappointed in me. I'm not totally sure why. I have a wonderful life, it is just so different than what I had expected my life to amount to. It's funny though, in an ironic sort of way, because I don't think that I would be happy in the sort of life I had imagined. I would feel alone.

I may feel many things about my career, my bank account, my life - but I am not alone. In fact I am the most together I have ever been. I cannot explain the blessing it is to be married and have someone fully know you. It is possible to hide your heart I suppose, but there is such a vulnerability in marriage like nothing else I have ever experienced. Literally every single decision you make affects another person. Whether it be what you make for dinner (if you even make it?), what time you get off work, if you pick up your clothes. You are required to be a lot less selfish. Let me tell you, it isn't easy. So many of the things I most get annoyed about around the house are really things I have been to lazy to keep up on, and I act in anger because I am angry. Angry that I can't be more perfect. As infuriating as that is at times, it is the most humbling experience. I thank God for putting Adam and I together in this marriage not just for all the wonderful things he brings into my life but also for the honest introspection is has required of myself.

With how much my marriage has changed the essence of who I am, I can only begin to fathom how much change this child (Due May 14th 2013) will bring. I pray that the Lord will prepare my heart for it. That I will be able to become a more gracious, loving, giving person than I am. That I might be humbled into a more honoring and respectful wife. These are areas that I struggle in daily and I hope to grow. Now I will not only be living for my Father, my husband, and myself, I will be living for my Father, my husband, my child, and myself. I have to remember who comes first and who comes last on that list. I have to remember that without my Father and my husband I would have no child. I will have to consider all of us before I make a decision because more and more there will be no "just me". I look forward to it with both fear and excitement. I can't wait to meet my child, and even more, to become a person they can respect and look up too.

I am not sure if any of this wordiness really has merit or interest to any others, but I felt like sharing my heart. I want to begin to open the window and to remember that happiness is not having what you thought you wanted, it is realizing how blessed you are by the things you never could have dreamed for yourself...

Challenges

Here it is, my first post from my brand new MacBook Pro. There is just something so freeing to me about typing on a laptop. I'm not 100% sure what makes it feel "special" or "different", there is just something about laptops that feels personal to me. I love how the keyboards feel too, I am able to type so quickly and freely and I just really enjoy it.

So far this post hasn't been terribly poetic. I suppose that's why my title is PROBABLY poetic, because things don't always have to be. Though, if you think about it, prose in and of itself is poetic. Kind of. Every piece is just a little bit different. Anyways...

I think I mentioned before how my friend Katie and I give one another "poetry challenges". We mail each other our latest poem and include a challenge for the other to write a poem. These challenges serve to stretch the imagination, and to keep us writing. Katie is great about them. I, on the other hand, am two behind. I have poets block. Or I just don't try. Or I try to hard. I'm not sure what my true reason is I just know that I haven't felt terribly creative lately, and this post is an attempt to correct that. So, here we are. The first challenge that she gave me is this:

"Write in the point of view of a type of person you are not (a type you are most unlike) (?Slutty girl, atheist, callous person?) This is not meant to be cliche or a satire, but try to realistically explore their psychological and spiritual landscape: we all see the top of the mountain, but what lies in the forest (if anything)?"

Man, Katie goes straight to the heart! Well, here goes nothing::

The Forest at the Mountain's Base

Sarrah Loyce

There is an anger at the top of the mountain

a brutal, bias voice.

It screams out of me, louder than a lion.

It is not my choice.

The rage within me bubbles out my mouth

frothy, foaming fury.

The anger so consumes me

that I can see nothing clearly.

So many bad impressions are made of

my anger, my wrath,

I am judged so harsh and rashly,

that it makes me catch my breath.

They call me crude and callous,

a mean, insufferable bitch.

But the truth is they don't know me,

they only catch a glimpse

of who I am.

I am a wealthy woman.

I am a mother too.

I am a fiery leader.

I am not a fool.

I have a painful history.

I have a story of loss.

And most of all, I have my reasons for being cross.

Do not presume to know me

or think that you could understand,

I'm guarded by my anger,

and I protect myself how I can.

I see the world around
the green, the glorious, the grand.
I also see pain and persecution,
treachery done by man, to man.

I am the forest lying
and the tall, noticed mountains base.
I am the truth behind it,
I am the emotion hidden behind that face.

Inspiration

So it has been quite a while since I have posted much on this blog. I love the idea of writing poems constantly but as of late I have been struggling with finding inspiration. My dear friend Katie sends me poetry challenges in the mail, but alas, I cannot seem to be inspired by them and it saddens me. I think it is in part because I have sort of cut myself off from my creative, inventive brain. When I go through hard stuff my instinct is to shut down, and to hide. I went through some really hard stuff this past year, and while I'd love to draw inspiration from that I still find myself quite anxious when I try. I worry I will share to much, give to much of myself away and become vulnerable. I guess that is really part of the thrill of written art, wondering who will see it, and how much they will glean from their limited knowledge of the subject matter. I don't know why I find the fear of sharing myself so paralyzing. A work in progress...for ever more I will be.