Knitting never made me cry

Pool Water

Here is a poem I wrote about middle child syndrome, which I assure you is real...

So I am standing
Pearched a top the diving board
Toes on the nose, 6 years old
Black suit, white dots, pink frill, waterwings
I am a virgin to the board and really scared
I close my eyes and I am soaring
Sailing, flying
Somewhat picturesque, like a pinwheel...

Unlike most I was blest with three brothers
and two equally talented tormentors called sisters
Jake the snake
2 years older non the wiser
Had chucked me off of the diving board to my almost certain doom
I will never forget the day he taught me to swim...

Junior high was more crippling,
Eating my way through twinkies and books
Limited friends and limited looks,
I was a chunk
My family never gave up on me though,
Wedgies, teasings, swirlies,
All signs of love
As if they knew the scars wouldn't last,
The fat kid days would somehow pass,
I have bear crawled my way through middle child syndrome
Banking on wit to quicken my pace
Barely deemed of human race,
So let me tell all you only, older, younger, syblings
I have been ignored at meals, blamed for spills and forgotten on birthdays

Survival of the fittest sucks when you are anything but

Yet, it took me so long to realize,
I attribute my strengths to my family character flaws
I have compassion for the underdogs
An eye for the over looked
and material for a plethora of poems

So here is a sonnet,
a theme
a tribute
To my family and yours
May the teasing be relentless,
The love never failing,
And for blood to always be thicker than pool water.

A year later...

So, here I am, a year later and needless to say things got better...wierd. This was mostly due to Ani Difranco and a few relationships, but fear not, I am still pumping out some angsty and slightly bitter poetry. I recently participated in a poetry slam which was pretty much amazing. I will post a few of my other poems, including the one I will write for my roommates wedding. Her fiance is more nervous to hear what I have to say than the actual marriage. Mission accomplished.

Poem, not for the faint of heart

Knitting never made me cry
A poem of angst
By Libby

I am a legacy of strong women, dropped stitches and abandoned projects.
E.Z. said, “Knit on with confidence and hope, through all crises.”
Well. I hit a crisis,
A big fat boy crisis

So this is my “break up and get on” sweater
My “I don’t need a man to buy me yarn” sweater
My “No one takes it off but me” sweater

Purls of wisdom slipped intravenously from my fingers to my soul
Then from my soul to my needles I regain my composure
Stitch after stitch I come closer and closer
TO FREEDOM
And when it is done I will say
Now is the day, now is the time, I am free, I am free

So this is my “break up and get on” sweater
My “I don’t need a man to buy me yarn” sweater
My “No one takes it off but me” sweater

It is hard to control my stitches when someone is controlling my arm
Where to go, what to do,
Or not to do
I got tired of the Indian rug burn, so I had a choice
Break free or go limp
I broke the ties found your lies
No longer am I uncomfortable in my own skin
Clothed in a sweater of independence and self assurance

So this is my “break up and get on” sweater
My “I don’t need a man to buy me yarn” sweater
My “No one takes it off but me” sweater

You selfish fickle farse boy
With you I dropped stitches in my intricate web of support
Mis counting rows and getting lost in the simple college pattern
I was desperate for you
But now I am desperate for a sweater to find my own heat
Knitting you socks didn’t warm my cold feet
So, please, let me be discrete
Knitting never made me cry

So this is my “break up and get on” sweater
My “I don’t need a man to buy me yarn” sweater
My “No one takes it off but me” sweater