poetry. kind of.

i have poetry in my blood. some unnamed great great uncle of mine was poet laureate of italy way back when...and i have always loved writing it. not that i am any good at it, it is more of a personal and therapeutic act than anything else. i do so love words.

my personal history with poetry is spotted...i wanted to major in it after getting a full scholarship for writing to Southern Connecticut State University, but my dad convinced me to major in something more practical, journalism. i listened to dad, unfortunately, but did finally take a poetry class in my junior or senior year at SCSU. it didn't go well.

i was asked to leave poetry 101 by the well known writer, my professor, Charles Fort. for vulgarity!!! hahaha! rebellious, in your face and overly ineloquent youth that i was...he asked us to write a poem about our most hated household chore and i wrote about cleaning a toilet that had been over exposed to men...yellow crust and short and curlies and whatnot. it was an effective, gag inducing poem. exactly how i feel when subjected to such ick. i also remember writing a poem about being five and helping my dad hang a deer he had shot in a tree...to drain the blood out of it before it was butchered. it was a bloody and graphic poem...but so was the experience. i was proud when an appalled freshman left the class in disgust. charles wasn't so impressed and viewed me as disruptive.

anyway...
i feel a wad of poetry gurgling in my throat...i think it's my way of purging the unspeakable...i plan on posting it here. i guess this is a warning. it's private...but not. and well...i just want anyone that checks this blog out to stand forewarned. i might get graphic...you never know.

<3