I worry that my poetry could be giving the wrong impression in some instances. I did not have a terrible childhood. Could it have been better? Sure! Yours probably could have been better, too. I did, however, have a terrible adulthood until I hit 40. So, if you got that impression from my words and thoughts shared here – well, you are on the money with that one. Truth is, I see so many who struggle with so much more than I ever have that I feel guilty when people call me strong or even acknowledge my pain. I know that pain is individual and so is struggle and I am not discounting mine, but I also don’t want it to appear to be more than it was. At least not the childhood part. Much of my poetry is dark because many of my memories are, but I don’t live in a dark place. I am not what has happened to me. I am not who I once was out of circumstance and fear. I am happy. I am grateful. I am a survivor. I only share the darkness as a way to remember it, so that I am never so far out of it that I forget to be grateful for being delivered from it. And delivered I was – in a very mighty way. Maybe, I’ll tell you about it some time.
Wild Heart Scribe