Guest Blogger: Laura A. Lord

Hello! Today I am lending my blog out to one of my best friends, the very talented author, Laura A. Lord! I'm so excited about her new book,Of Roots and Wreckage, and for you to hear a little bit about her and read one of her amazing poems. Enjoy!

https://youtu.be/nKG9HQGcbc0

In Of Roots and Wreckage, Laura A. Lord moves us with the imagery that has come to define her poetry. Whether looking into the brutal truths of where one calls home to moments of reveling in the joy and pain of an aging body – Lord is  to exploring in raw honesty the smallest of moments and describes with startling clarity the mysteries that move and break us.

Want to win a free copy of Laura’s Of Roots and Wreckage? Enter Laura’s Goodread’s Giveaway Here!

Her newest collection, Of Roots and Wreckage, focuses heavily on where she grew up. Split into three sections, this collection explores the ideas of “roots” and hometowns, of people and change, of aging and death.

Here is a selection from Of Roots and Wreckage:

Sometimes Death Looks like Christmas Breakfast

He is preoccupied with my age.

Three times this week

he has tried on,

as if fitting a new shirt

and tie,

the emperor’s voice:

commanding,

in charge,

in control.

“You can’t get older.”

Yes, your majesty.

So the soft skin crinkles

at the corner of his eyes -

tracks of worry.

The railroad trance,

where imagination runs rampant

and he sees me

spread like a ragdoll,

draped - a cloth of human existence.

Like the scene from Gozilla

where the soldiers were scattered,

play things,

and he shoved in handfuls of popcorn

while asking

“Is that what dead looks like?”

Sometimes.

Sometimes it looks like Christmas breakfast -

where I am frying bacon

as eggs congeal on plates,

and I am aware she is not in her seat.

More aware of her absence, then,

than in the hours, days, before.

Yes, sometimes death looks like Christmas breakfast.

© Laura A. Lord 2015

Pre-order your copy now!

Laura A. Lord is the author of numerous collections of vignettes and poetry and one awesome children’s book about a T-Rex screwing up her entire day. It’s absolutely a true story.

Laura’s work has been featured in The Beacon, The Collegian, Whirl with Word, Tipsy Lit, Precipice, Scary Mommy, The Powder Room, The Reverie Journal, and Massacre Magazine.

You can find this author and poet in all these wonderful places!

Twitter

Facebook

Soundcloud

YouTube

Amazon

Goodreads

Google +

Pinterest

Independent Author Network

Dystenium

In the Middle of a Gray Rain

It’s weird to be approaching summer and not have a “summer break.” Even though I worked through the summer last year, this is the first year that it’s hit me that all my summers will be this way. Back when I was in school, I was so used to always working towards a goal. That goal was always finishing school and getting a good job. Well, I've done both of those things, and it’s a good life. But, I can’t shake this odd feeling of “what now?” Is this all there is to adulthood?

There are so many things that need money, and never enough money to go to the things needing it. The car repairs are vital, but expensive, and require me to take valuable time off from work—time that I’m trying desperately to save to spend with the long-distance boyfriend. There are relationships to be maintained, housework that needs to be done, payments that have to be made, doctors’ appointments that have to be attended. Everything in life is in a constant state of decay. I feel like I’m constantly trying to get rid of the ants in the kitchen, keep the car from suffering larger issues down the road, fill cavities before they become root canals.

Somewhere along the line, I became an adult before I really knew what that meant. Heck. I don’t know what it means now. All I know is that life got a lot harder, and somehow, at some point, I began to feel more alone than I ever have.

Maybe it was when I lost loved ones. Mom Mom and Carvey were the only grandparents who ever really showed any interest in me or put any time into me. Even as I got older, they didn't stop caring. I still can’t talk about either of them without turning into a big, weepy mess. And last night, I went to a rehearsal for my first play since losing Anita. It was hard, because it reminded me of her.

I hadn't realized how much I emotionally relied on them, especially Mom Mom, until they were gone. And my life just…changed. Unlike any time before in my life, I've become so fearful. I’m so afraid of everything. I’m afraid of illness, disease, traveling, pain, other people, and even myself. Suddenly, I’m not just afraid of dying—I’m afraid of living too. I’m afraid of loving, of losing, of the future.

I've never wanted to become this person. I want to live, but I feel so empty, so anxious.

I still enjoy my life. I still have fun every day. I've got the best family and friends in the world, and I’m madly in love with my boyfriend. It’s just that the loss of these loved ones left me shaky, standing on infirm ground. Somehow, my identity got wrapped up in my great grandparents, and without them, especially Mom Mom, I feel kind of lost, and terribly alone. In reality, I’m probably the least alone that I've ever been in my life…yet…there is that feeling—the feeling of standing alone, in the middle of a gray rain, not another soul in sight.

And I don’t know how to remedy that. 

The Time We Got Holes Punched Through Our Heads, and Other Adventures

I have kind of an unconventional idea about soul mates.

Like most people who believe in the concept, I used to think your soul mate was the person you marry. I still think that can be true, if you’re lucky enough. However, as I've gotten older, I've come to realize that it isn't always like that. In fact, I don’t think it’s always romantic.

I believe that you can have more than one. Throughout your life, you might meet two or three people, even, who just get you. You know those people I am talking about. You probably have someone in your mind right now. It usually happens like this:

There you were, just meandering through life, minding your own business, when one day you meet this person who you find yourself laughing with and having long conversations about everything and nothing. You don’t really think much about it at first, except that this person really understand you like no one else ever has before. You can tell this person everything, and not only will they not judge you, but they get it. They just get it. And before you know it, you just know that their soul understands yours.

I've been lucky. I have met some of mine already. In fact, I believe that my boyfriend is one of mine. But the first one, the one who has been there with me for years, is Mel. She just gets me. From the first time I met her, and we laughed and talked together over boyfriends, crushes, homeschooling, Justin Timberlake, and made way too much noise in the library—and I just knew that I had never known anyone else like her. No one else will ever understand the bond we have, so I’m not even going to try to explain it.

Instead, I will just give you one recent example. Last month, Mel and I decided to commemorate our friendship in a very permanent way. With white knuckles as we held each other’s hands, we went to a tattoo parlor and had our ears pierced together, like the badasses that we are (upper ear cartilage, folks. Not for sissies.). Not only did we feel like the baddest rebels in the world (let us have our moment here), but it was also a pact. It’s a pact to always be best friends. It’s a sign of all we've gone through and made it through together. It’s a testimony to our sisterhood, our friendship, our bond.

There is no one else I’d get a hole punched through my head for.

Happy birthday, Mary Ellen. I love you!

She Doesn't LOOK Like a Ballerina...

A photographer friend of mine has been asking me to do a ballet photo shoot with him for a while. I was ecstatic when we both finally got the chance to work together. Any chance I get to wear my pointe shoes is a good day in my book!

I LOVED how the photos turned out. He did an excellent job with the lighting and all that photography stuff that I don’t understand. And even I was so extremely pleased with how I looked in them. I felt like the ballerina that I am. And I felt skinny and pretty.

Then it began.

“She doesn't look like a ballerina… Aren't ballerinas supposed to be thinner?”

 I guess that if you have a photo shoot done, you should brace yourself for critics. And, that’s something that I didn't do. In my mind, I’m not fat anymore, and I’m also not anorexic anymore. I didn't see anything wrong with the pictures, so I never expected anyone else to either.

I was never fully anorexic, but in my teens, right after I lost all my extra weight (which was a lot), I was quite thin—almost to an unhealthy level. I went through a time where I just didn't eat. Period. Talk to my friends who were practically trying to force-feed me at school during lunch time. Talk to my mom who begged me to “just take a couple of bites.”

I got out of that. I've reached a safe and healthy weight and I’m happy with it. I even love the way I look in a Victoria’s bikini. But since the photos were done, people keep making the same comments about my size.  

And it hurts.

No seriously, it hurts. I try to keep smiling and laugh it off, pretending that it doesn't bother me, but it bothers the hell out of me. It’s as if they’re saying, “What is she doing? She’s clearly not built like a ballerina. Why should she even try? She doesn't belong there.” I mean, I know I’m curvy. I've always been large-chested, but my measurements are proportionate. I have a narrow waist. But even so, I’m not stick-straight. I’m sooooo many sizes larger than your ballerina A-cup.

  
                And it makes me feel like that fat kid again. It makes me want to throw away the bagel that I was going to have for breakfast, and the slice of pizza that I was going to have for lunch. It makes me want to starve myself all over again.

And I know that I can’t really blame it on what people say, because that isn't supposed to matter to me, right? I’m in charge of how I react to things. And I agree with that. But even I have to admit…even though I'm generally very confident about my physical appearance, this is a weak spot for me. I don’t even weigh myself anymore because that has the ability to push me over the edge back into drastic weight loss and insecurity. It’s a delicate balance.

And even more than all of this, the last “she doesn't look like a ballerina” comment came from the family member of someone I really love. And to make matters worse, I was compared to a friend who is “ballerina-size,” and I think that hurts all the more.

I guess that it kind of made me stop and think, because even though the person who related these comments to me wasn't the one who made them, and he defended me, I couldn't help but wonder, is this how he thinks this of me too? Is this how I am viewed by everyone? Is the “she’s not skinny enough” opinion the general impression of people who see me?

I don’t know. But does anyone want these bagels? I don’t want them to go to waste...

"Some Positive Effect."

 “It means a lot to know that I had some positive effect,” he said, regarding a student who informed him of the impact he had on her life as her teacher.

“Some positive effect.”

If only he knew how much of a positive effect he had on so many young lives at that tiny little college. I had seen it, the entire campus knew it. Hundreds, if not thousands of students’ lives had changed from his teachings, both inside and outside of the classroom.

But somehow, he couldn't fully see the impact he had made. I wish that for people like this instructor, that there was a way for them to see just how far their impact reached, be able to view at once, all the lives they've changed for the better.

It’s so easy to think that our jobs don’t mean much. We go about the daily grind, just performing the tasks we've always done. But somewhere, in these day-to-day exercises, words are spoken, conversations happen, choices are made, comfort is given, lives are forever altered. Most people don’t even realize it’s happened until well after.

It’s those small moments that we look back upon and say, “A wise man once told me…” and realize that it was then that we made a choice, or learned something vital. This is how we grow up and mature. And usually, we don’t realize it in time to thank the people who were responsible for those life lessons.

So, don’t ever think that you don’t mean anything. Don’t ever feel like your life is worth nothing. And please, don’t ever forget that you've changed lives. Because of you, someone didn't jump. Because of you, someone was able to stop the tears, make a decision, take another step.

Thanks, Professor. 

A Glance Across the Room

I have fallen in love with your words.

I clutched at them with grasping hands,

And hung on their every syllable,

Like honey about to drip from a spoon.

I then saw your face,

And felt your eyes looking into mine.

Your love penetrated my heart

And I knew that I had never really been loved before.

You spoke the words out loud,

And I heard them the first time from your very lips.

A little part of my soul cried,

For it had never been touched like this.

And now I wait for your arms to encircle me

As I count the days away until the distance between us

Is but a breath,

Or a glance across a room.

Choices, Choices...

There are so many things in this life that we have absolutely no control over. It can even be rather maddening when you realize just how few things you are actually in charge of. So, what can you control?

• The remote. It’s called a “remote control,” after all.
•  Who you vote off the island, Dancing with the Stars, the Amazing Race, etc. (Sadly, you have no control over The Bachelor, though.)
•  How you respond to situations.

Ahhh one of these things isn't like the other. That last one was serious. Good catch. You’re a smart one. *wink*

Personal responses are really all we can control. I've kind of been realizing this lately. I went through some situations recently that caused me to panic. It took me weeks to realize that I could actually control when I panicked and that I didn't have to if I didn't want to. I am in charge of my emotions, not the other way around.

In the same way, I’m in charge of my own happiness. We often say, “you make me so happy!” or “pizza makes me happy.” This is true. These things can lead to happiness, but at the end of the day, I am the only person who is able to decide when I am happy. So, I've been learning how to be happy for others, even when my first response might be a less-desirable emotion. I've been learning how to choose happiness for myself too.

Love is kind of the same thing. Contrary to fairy tale ending, follow-your-heart preaching, love is a choice. It’s not just the warm fuzzy feelings. Those are important too. But those don’t last. I've watched relationships close to me go through horrible changes and absolute destruction, only to hear the involved parties tell each other that they still loved each other, even if they didn't feel like they did.

At first, this was kind of shocking. I mean, no one wants to lose that romance. I still think it’s important to hang onto that and try to keep it alive. But even if it goes out, the most important thing is that the initial love is still there.

It’s a choice. It’s a choice to get up in the morning and pray for him. It’s a choice to take care of him when he’s sick. It’s a choice to want his well-being over yours. It’s a choice to rejoice with his success. It’s a choice to deny that base, sense of jealousy. It’s a choice to remain faithful. It’s a choice utter kind words that will build him up.

So today, I choose peace. I choose happiness. And most of all, I choose love.