Get A Good Poem Out Of Him

Sometimes my friends and I (or my mother or whoever) lament my poor luck with a "permanent relationship." To say I've dated every kind of man, is well, really an understatement (I exaggerate on occasion). But I have been through the mill. Just when I think I can't possibly meet anyone stranger than the last, I of course, do.

Why? Why? Why? My friends commiserate with me, we laugh, we rant, and finally, I write about it. It's a joke now, that I have the experiences I do so that I can write about them. That is the purpose. Because there is no other reason.

What I mean, really, is that in order to make sense of my experience, I turn it into art. Then it doesn't seem at all a waste (when many times otherwise, it would seem that way). If I can get a good poem out of a man, then I am satisfied. That sounds ridiculous, but it's the truth.

I know also, that when I can finally write about something, it's over. I feel another novel coming on with this one. A poem isn't going to suffice. And I realize, it's over.

And finally...it wasn't my intention to write about anything too personal on this blog (since I have another anonymous one for that purpose), but I guess that was expecting my real life not to coincide with my artistic one. Of course they are intertwined, and my real life cannot help but intrude upon my life as an artist. They are one and the same.