Just Like Venus & Mars, We Were Written In The Stars
Every Monday and Saturday night, I go to The Vault for Open Mic night. It’s generally the same people, a gathering of music aficionados and friends who show up to perform and listen to music. A friend I sit with weekly, Michelle, sits beside me on Open Mic nights. Sometimes she reads my poetry. Now, the dilemma I face when she reads my poetry, is that she seems to think that it’s melodramatic and immature on the grounds that I’m very expressive about my feelings– they are very boldly pronounced and sometimes I go into great detail about how affected I am by something.
When I write less emotional poetry, she prefers it. She likes the poetry I write that is more about action, or an interpretation of a vision, than the poetry I write about my experiences. I find her logic somewhat mystifying. I didn’t know that only adolescents were able or allowed to feel. I was unaware that part of maturing and growing up was becoming dejected and underwhelmed, becoming numb and emotionally atrophied. I was not informed that this was what maturing implied. All this time I thought that growing up and maturing meant being aware and accepting of your emotions, and learning to control them. Apparently being an adult means not feeling much at all.
If that’s what adulthood has in store for us all, I’d rather leave it. I am a well-informed, mature individual. I have a wealth of emotion, and I am very expressive. I feel a little extremely, but I’d like for my heart and soul to remain brilliant with color and feeling for as long as I can manage. I want to live, fully, while I’m still alive. I want to feel and experience and express as much as I can before I die, otherwise, what the hell was all the trouble for? I find a richness of emotion is bittersweet, it makes the world turn, it lights up dark skies and makes rain tickle. How I feel, ladies and gents, is the light to my soul. If aging means that light has to fade and burn out, perhaps the answer to joy is youth of heart.