For several years, writing poems was my hobby. I set myself the goal of writing a poem every day, even if it was a lousy poem. Sort of a "do something, lest ye do nothing" kind of thing. This morning I was clicking around in my documents, looking at old poems. I'm amazed at how bad some of them really are!
Even so, they shed a little light on what I was thinking and feeling on those days, so I save them all... the good, the bad, and the ugly... even if I cringe when I read them.
The following poem is interesting to me because obviously, although I'm saying rejection is just fine with me, it's all too apparent that it isn't fine at all.
November 12, 2002
I know of rejection, and handle it well.
I almost expect it, and hide in my shell.
I try to stay clear of the judgmental throng
At any slight inkling that something is wrong.
My sheltered environment, snug as a tomb,
Protects me from nay-saying prophets that loom
Who tell me I’m worthless, and point out my flaws,
Not mattering whether or not they have cause.
I’ve offered a smile that was met with a frown,
And my noblest intentions have oft been put down.
But I’ve built strong walls made for my own protection,