Friday Philosophy: Clutter – Three Poems

I recently had to empty one office and move all my shit into another one in a different building.  As often has happened when I have done this sort of thing, I uncovered an old scrap of paper.  On it were three poems.  Searching my data banks has revealed that two of them were micro-planed into poems which I have published before, in slightly different form.

Because of the start of the new semester, that’s about all I’ve got to share this evening.

Originally I was going to write a piece entitled In the good old days, they just called us perverts, but I didn’t find the time to flesh it out.  If anyone wants to discuss the topic, I’m game to do so in the comments.

The upper left side of the paper displayed the following:

Apparently that was written near the end of January of 2006, since I found this in my archives:

In Pairs New Tricks riffs on a theme Discontinuity Total refusal to be who I was balked at the concept finally stood up New environment Learn to fit in or face rejection Is it ever enough? There are always bigots “Learning to fly but I ain’t got wings” And coming down can smash your face into the ground It’s like trying to pair up old socks only much more serious What portion is me and what part pretense? Non-vital essence What only exists for the sake of appearance for convenience for comfort, safety? Being dead is safe eventually Learning is so hard Learning how to exist painfully harder There is no blueprint no textbook to consult nor guide on this trail I am a teacher I must lead myself –Robyn Serven –January 25, 2006

On the right hand side of the page, only this had been written:

Again, I found this in my archives:

Eyes Exuviation Like sloughing off old skin leaving chunks along a life path flaying myself alive stashing a lump here and a sliver there One must tear down before one rebuilds sometimes embracing portions of the past bits left behind sometimes not always hoping that joy might arise from burying pain and trying to forget where it was left –Robyn Elaine Serven –January 24, 2006

The third poem was from the lower left corner of the page.  

At first I could find nothing in the archives which seemed to correspond.  Then I changed my search criterion and found this:

Who? Choosing He was I am and will be It took a sharp blade to divide us He carried me through tough times and brought me to where I could be but it was unbearable too utterly suffocating and bitterly ravaging that he lived while I hid wasting away slowly rotting the years away a life mislived It was him or both of us There was only one vessel One had to die I chose I chose him I do not regret that he lived I am who he wished he could be but could not manage to be Not to be was the alternative so I chose –Robyn Elaine Serven –January 25, 2006

Thinking I might have to supply a graphic to go with One Must Die, I created the following:

Ripped Apart

The little sliver of pink amidst the blues on the bottom was intentional, representing what it felt like to be my former self.