It is one am and I have been dancing (again): starting to pick up a new Bimba class (https://youtube/watch?v=eanxvveN9GI) and thinking. It seems to me this conversation (my soliloquy) is best had publicly as I am certain other people out there feel as I do. Perhaps it will benefit someone. Perhaps not. In my case, I think tonight that I must apply for MFA programs because if I do not I will never gain acceptance in the world. For years, I have tried to help and be involved with other creative people (as I am a very creative person) and I am either ignored, rebuffed or treated as their personal cheerleader. My writing, my very personal writing, has been ignored by people who claim to care for me as a person, people who instead click like buttons for one-liners and inspirational quotes, you know the easy things people can really stand behind. I know in a writers workshop I will be safe with other writers. I know this because I have that past experience. Whereas in this outer world -- where I lay myself open to no one -- I am not safe. I am doubly hurt. Whereas in this outer world -- where I care about other people and support them -- I am treated as an anomaly, as a broken person or just strange, I know in a writers workshop other people will care and support. I am so tired of caring for people who do not care for me. I am weary of it. Some days I tell myself to offer no one else a kind word unless that person is capable of actually accepting it gracefully. (That would be a start.) So, I suppose my decision has been made. I must go to an MFA program to be accepted not only as a writer, but because poet, as a person. My folklore work will continue: I want to document bluegrass, bhangra and several african traditions as well as afro-carribean. However, regardless of whether a program will help me in that path, I must try to attend because otherwise I will always be out here alone, caring, and being treated like a freak.
Posted on: Mon, 17 Nov 2014 07:30:31 +0000
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