a descent into poetry insanity |
the statement is bald on the screen. no inflection to give it life, to tell me whether the return message should be happy or mourning. the young have signals to use happy faces and hearts and steaming piles of poo to help each other decide what they mean. We who write in complete words are lost, sometimes, between the lines. should I congratulate? should I commiserate? the next eighteen plus years of life will be filled with another’s needs, to bear alone. pride pushing all help away. if we could touch, I’d gather you to me, and let you cry out your happiness, laugh your sorrow onto my shoulder. but through the screen, I don’t know what to say. I came to this one because I couldn't decide whether I wanted to write about good news or bad news, and then I thought about how sometimes, when it's written, we don't know whether a news is happy or sad until we get context. I mean, depending on circumstances, sometimes "I'm pregnant" (I'm not, by the way) is the saddest news in the world, and sometimes "Mother died this morning" (again, this is not my news nor anyone else's that I know) is complicated by her relief from pain. It's much easier when I have other signals to tell me what the bearer needs. So I went there, instead. |