Let me start by sharing the first poem I ever wrote. It was fall of 1977 and it came out just like it is. Frustration is in the middle section of By the Pond on page 71:

Frustration

by sidonamarie

Whirl, wind, whirl.

Hold back your rain.

Your clouds hang low,

They blacken then build.

Your storm rolls in

So that day looks as night.

Your thunder rumbles

With rain ready to pour.

Whirl, wind, whirl.

Hold back your rain.

Now let’s talk about how it came to be. This will be a bit long but worth the read I think.

Yes- I am a poet who happens to be a woman. My feelings are these:

• What does it matter the gender I am?
• What does it matter the color of my skin?
• What does it matter what country I am from?
• What does it matter what my religious beliefs or lack of beliefs?
• What does it matter as long as I have something I need to say?

Until now, my poetry has not been shared much. I like to think it gender-less. I was a quiet and shy child. If a teacher called on me in class, I would not answer (I got a little better in college but not much). I was afraid of talking in front of a group of small children. Forget it with adults. I wanted to teach. This was a problem. So I started by teaching preschool Sunday school at my home parish when just out of high school and worked my way up from there.

Let me draw a quick picture of me as child. My mother was mentally ill, my father died when I was six (he was 29), and I sucked my thumb until I was ten. I was afraid of my mother. She could get violent. I was told she tried to kill my father once with a knife as he slept. I did not see that. But, I did see her once try to kill her father by trying to drag him to the basement while holding a rifle of some sort. No one was physically hurt either time. My dad woke up in time and my Grandma Elsie (mother’s mom) was able to get control of the situation.  I was five or or a bit younger as I stood and silently watched. I learned it best not to draw attention to yourself in situations beyond your control. I was very happy when Gramma (my father’s mother) was awarded custody of my sister and I when I was seven.

One more thing about my mother I would like to share. I remember her grabbing by the arm very violently once. The next thing I remember is waking on the couch screaming and my mouth was bleeding and my mother trying to calm me and clean blood. Whether these are two separate occasions I put together or one I cannot say for sure. However, I remember them as a flow together. I also still have a scar under my bottom lip to prove something happened. The scar goes all the way through. So – I either hit something very hard, or I was so terrified I bit through my lip.

Yet one of the most scarring things for me was being compared to my mother. This comparison took place most of my childhood. Whenever I would get angry and show any temper at all, I would be compared to my mother. I could not show anger as a child. I still have issues with anger and holding it in. The biggest problem for me is in more public situations. For example at a job, I for the most part have a cool head. So when I do show some discontent they get hurt feelings. Me getting angry is not received well by others, but I am to understand there anger. Now I am not whining about this. I am just sharing how things said and done to us as children shape us as adults.

My poetry is the outward expression of my emotions. My emotions and reactions to things are very restrained most of the time. Can you now see how a poem called Frustration would be my first one? I chose creativity to express emotions. Not every emotionally impaired child does. Even though I never was labeled, I am pretty sure I was. cooperative and well behaved. I say do not be so sure. We watch everything and trust very little. The quiet ones do not draw attention and are seen as Next blog: Why I chose poetry.