Reveal Too Much Of Me...

...or ... A Self Indulgent Retrospective
Three weeks tomorrow, I'm leaving Sydney and moving to London for a couple of years. This is the type of event which is often signalled as 'a new chapter', 'a new phase', 'a new beginning' or some such rot. Although its probably kind of true.

So, having worked my last shift at Opera Australia, after having been there 7.5 years, after having finished uni, after having a strange long distance relationship fed mostly by skype time, I guess I am closing the pages on one of life's metaphorical chapters and about to begin the next one. I figured that this was, therefore, an appropriate time as ever, to take some time out to reflect upon the girl who was and who became the girl/woman/lady/adult female that I am now.

I have decided to sort through the pages and pages of mostly terrible poems I wrote during my adolescence in search of 21 decent poems, for surely I wrote at least 21 decent poems. For the purposes of this retrospective I deem my adolescence to have ended at 24, because when I look back, that is the time I feel I knew, once for all, that I had left my teenage self and her spice girls CDs behind me. It is also the time that my angsty poetic output began to slow.

For each day of these three weeks I am left in Sydney I will post one of the better ones. Please feel free to comment, laugh, cry, edit or offer any other response that won't damage me too much.

So... Number 1: All The Words, 27th October 2002, age 19
All the words I ever write
reveal too much of me.
They're so full of angst
and teenage views on how life should be.

I'd like to write more meaning
into the words I say,
Write in levels with hidden stories,
instead I only play.

Or maybe I could write the life
of a flower out in spring,
Or of the freedom and the love
for which they used to sing.

Maybe I could find beauty
in something quite mundane,
Like a homeless man in Darlinghurst
or a city rail train.

But all the words I ever write
are only what I feel,
So I wont write, what I dont know,
only what I find real.