Scrambled Eggs on Paper

Aspentera

Description

A volume of free verse reflects on a young woman’s journey through life, love, heartache, forgiveness, and healing.

That’s the grand thing about the mind
and how we process things,
there’s an infinite possibility of thoughts and conclusions.

Scrambled eggs are forgiving,
like poetry.

Aspentera understands that healing is never linear and that we owe ourselves forgiveness, even when it seems impossible.

In a debut collection of poems, Aspentera shares reflections that address trauma, love, the overwhelming intensity that accompanies having a soul mate, and the exhausting focus to recover after heartbreak. While candidly exploring the emotions that can accompany varied life experiences, Aspentera reminds all of us that words can become the missing puzzle pieces that put our lives back together again, that healing eventually comes with time, mindfulness, and self-love, and that new dreams are always waiting in the wings to transform our lives once again.

Scrambled Eggs on Paper is a volume of free verse that reflects on a young woman’s journey through life, love, heartache, forgiveness, and healing.

Sujets

• Poetry

Informations

• Publié par: Archway Publishing
• Date de parution: 20 janvier 2023
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781665725590
• Langue: English

Extrait

Scrambled Eggs on Paper
 
 
 
Aspentera
 
Illustration by: Elliana Esquivel
 
 
 
 

 
Copyright © 2022 Aspentera.
 
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
 
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
Archway Publishing
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.archwaypublishing.com
844-669-3957
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
ISBN: 978-1-6657-2557-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-2558-3 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-6657-2559-0 (e)
 
Library of Congress Control Number: 2022911498
 
 
Archway Publishing rev. date: 12/29/2022
acknowledgements
Inspired by L,
A thank you louder than the first concert I attended at 7, to my mother for continuously loving and supporting me while having the sincerity to always be honest with me. Thus giving this manuscript the push it needed to transform into a delicate extension of my heart in your hands.
A dedication to my best friend for the unconditional support you have given me, from making me feel like my writing had purpose and could move mountains, to helping me create a diversion story that included a racoon and a banana. (A story for another time).
Lastly, always, an overwhelming warmth to you, the reader who can relate to my story and find comfort or the avid poetry enthusiast who can enjoy the rhythm of my words. Thank you for bringing my book off the shelf and into your home.
Time is truly a healer: we will get through this .
Prologue
I’m obsessed with this idea
that things happen for a reason.
I’m trying to determine
if I really believe
that,
and if so,
how much?
If the universe just makes
things happen
for a reason
how does it live with itself?
It can control that some are
experiencing the happiest day of their life:
a newborn, a new house, a first kiss.
Meanwhile,
others are mourning their devastating losses
they’re homeless, wandering,
wondering if
they will be able to have dinner,
and some are saying goodbye
to their soul mate
over something petty.
Why is the universe the way it is?
Why do things just happen?
I continuously think of this
on smaller scales….
“Why is this rock placed in my path,
instead of two inches to the right
where it can hide among the grass?”
“Why is it I happened
to see this rock and notice it?”
I continuously think of this
on larger scales….
“Why is it that we humans,
mere cells in the vast expanse of combined cells that form the universe,
try to live such meaningful lives
when, one day, we won’t be
remembered for honor roll,
holding the door open, or the words we got published.
one day there won’t be
anyone to remember
if we lived or if we died.
Now,
I’m not suicidal
and I’m not
trying to find tHe MeAniNg to life .
I have my own personal meaning, as do we all,
but this big picture haunts me as I try to understand
“Why?”
Why I noticed this rock,
why was it in my path,
does noticing this rock mean something?
No: I’m overthinking,
but did anyone else notice this rock?
In the grand scheme,
these questions will be forgotten
Or are they
the epiphany of the universe that so desperately wants to be noticed.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1     Add a heaping scoop of trauma
Chapter 2     Mix in a fresh romance
Chapter 3     Cook to heart break
Chapter 4     Let sit for recovery
Chapter 5     Enjoy
Chapter 1
Add a heaping scoop of trauma
overthinking breakfast again
I like scrambled eggs.
We crack open the eggs into the bowl
we sometimes use for cereal,
sometimes for ice cream,
then we mix them with whatever ingredients
our heart desires.
We pour them into this pan
and watch as they begin to cook,
then,
we scramble them.
It doesn’t matter if you stir to the right first
or scoop them up and flip them down
whatever way,
they’re scrambled eggs.
Now,
you’re either craving breakfast
or asking yourself why these words
are giving you a how-to on scrambled eggs….
I brave the task,
of comparing scrambled eggs to our thoughts.
Our thoughts,
like scrambled eggs,
can be
well
scrambled.
We can have
research, proof, opinion, feelings,
anything really to put in our pan,
but in my universe, my pan,
it will always be
scram-
bled.
Even if I had the perfect recipe to a definitive thought,
the person next to me might be thinking
the complete opposite,
or near the same, but in a different process.
That’s the grand thing about the mind
and how we process things,
there’s an infinite possibility of thoughts and conclusions.
Scrambled eggs are forgiving,
like poetry.
So what makes our important thoughts important?
What makes them
meaningful, worth reading, correct, incorrect,
or worth highlighting and posting?
Here’s the ever more challenging question:
why do my scrambled eggs matter?
The answer is
they are mine.
They can’t be taken
without my permission
or if I’m too drunk to say no.
They can’t end my career
and convince me to lose myself.
They can’t say they don’t love me anymore
and leave.
I hear they say
it helps to put thoughts on paper,
so that is what this is:
my scrambled eggs
on paper.
 
(Reader: here is a dedicated space to put some of your scrambled eggs….)
routine
You just made it through breakfast.
You may find these words to be singing a familiar, comfortable tune.
These words may trigger your
empowerment,
light the fuse inside the battle you so desperately wish to avoid in your mind.
These words may possibly act as
a missing puzzle piece
that was under the box this whole time,
and, for at least a moment,
allow you to feel whole again.
Some pages may be flipped without ever being read,
or folded against at the corner of the page,
without highlight, underlining, or showing your friend
and that’s
okay .
These words
serve
to encourage you to dig deeper
No, I don’t mean to play with your food.
(Though who would I be to tell you what to do?)
I don’t write to please or manipulate your emotions:
I encourage you to take a moment to
truly taste
and experience those words
So, grab a plate,
in hopes that my words
will satisfy your hungry mind.
 
Sometimes
I find comfort in my trauma,
as it has awoken the writer in me,
but sometimes I think it isn’t a cure
it’s just a band aid
for everyone to read.
THE TRAIN
Summer. 2017.
I lay in my bed coloring and listening to music –
the usual
not knowing in a few hours
my life would change forever.
You call and invite me over to the party.
My trusted friend, soldier.
So I get up and get ready:
flip flops and jeans because it’s casual,
and a shirt I just got online.
I arrive to a bunch of familiar cars parked outside.
I recognized almost all of them immediately.
The air is nice, combined with loud music and laughter.
I am happy to be invited because I am away from home.
Earlier my mom told me
not to go,
she said I should just stay in tonight
almost as if her motherly instincts knew….
But when I walk inside, I am greeted with such enthusiasm and gentle hugs
(and almost immediately a drink)
that her words quickly disappear from my mind.
I think this is when your train left the station.
I begin to play beer pong and lose, miserably.
I wonder now if it’s because I was bad,
or that you pinned
your best players against me.
After a few games, I feel the alcohol, but
I don’t really feel drunk.
Beer pong was the first stop.
We move towards the kitchen where you make me a Crown & Coke.
I had more than a few more, you made sure of that… didn’t you ?
The liquor hits me harder,
my lips feel numb
(as a rule of thumb, I know when my lips feel numb
that I’m getting drunk
and I should stop drinking…)
but you offer me Vodka & Powerade, and I think I am safe.
I abandon my rule of thumb and decide
that I don’t need my guard up
around friends and soldiers that I work with,
so I keep drinking.
My lips don’t feel connected
to my body anymore.
I slur my words and my vision becomes blurry, blurrier.
You ’re the conductor .
You lead me to the room as I stumble down the hallway,
but nobody nearby
saves me.
nobody ….
Was I not worth saving?
You plop me on the bed,
and I use my arms as support
to keep my body up.
The alcohol is starting to take over and I’m losing