Autobiography of a poet

I picked up a pen at the age of 11
Nightmares written out in red ink
being the therapy the ten therapists
couldn't provide
Popped full of pills
until it made me sick
Not understanding that paper and pen
were the only medicine I needed

Then one day the writing became prophesy
as I wrote lines that described
the death of my grandfather
two weeks before god took him away

After the dreams of death
came feelings of puppy love
young love
Equating ourselves to Romeo and Juliette
our love dying just as tragically

Once again death knocked at my door
God took away the person I loved most in the world
and inside I was numb
Straight A student losing interest in class
Powerful actress no longer interested in scripts
Just writing
writing
writing
pages
upon pages
of grief inside

Only to realize that the universe molded with me
and made an opening to voice me out loud
Dressed as the Goddess Aphrodite
Back under the stage spotlight,
this time reading words that were my own

Teen angst and a war zone at home
led to notebooks filled with suicidal writings
Notes that I thought would make my mother’s heart bleed
If she could just for a moment understand
I didn't know then that my words were a reflection of myself
Saying the things my mouth couldn't open to speak

Then a shift came
a transition in consciousness
I embraced my inner poet
at the same time I connected with God
Or so I thought
Hind sight is 20-20
It was me connecting with me

21 was a golden age
I found myself inspired by other poets
Never leaving the house without pen and pad
Needing to write every day
Mind constantly churning away

Another prophesy

The birth of Morgana Phoenix
The conception if you will
For her entrance into this world would be 3 years away

Mind filled with big dreams
fresh heartache
and misplaced passion
Writing erotic scenes
about burning beds
and angelic strip shows

Setting out to conquer the world
just to find my place in it
New love found
Deep
Profound
Hearing wedding bells ring
Because THIS was the one

Military dreams of his
left me a shaken
mentally disrupted mess

Writing not being enough therapy
caused a disorder of conversion
Body taking on the mind’s overflow of stress
No pills this time
just wired to machines
While writing
and him breaking
my heart into a million little pieces

Swept up the mess
bought 2 new journals
took the journey of my lifetime
out to the west coast
Cross country on a train
with a laptop replacing pen and pad

God and I speak through travel
always have
As much as I try to fight it
I can't help but be compelled to fit all his beauty
into blue or black on white within
the borders of an 8 1/2 by 11 piece of parchment

In California, my world came undone
torn apart bit by bit
in a violent manner
I hope never to repeat
and wouldn't wish on my worst enemy
Learning that the very foundation of my being was all a lie

Schlep back to the city that never sleeps
and writing more than ever
because it truly is the only thing I have
Writing was the only truth
Even when I couldn't trust myself
I could trust the words on the page

And just when I thought it couldn't get
any worse
that the world could fall apart no more
Death reached in again
and snatched the woman who is the cause of so much pain
yet the only one with the answers
even though I know she wouldn't give them

Followed only by true fear for my own life
when my dead mother's husband
sought some sort of sick revenge
For what? I don't even know
She loved him more than she loved me
and love just isn't the word for how she felt
about her own flesh and blood
Proving that blood may be thicker than water
but makes a bigger mess

For weeks, my pen was silent
grieving and terrified
Nightmares
And tears that never seemed to end
Spending 14 hours a day
lost in confusion and internal agony
on an air mattress in a living room in Virginia

The complete concept of time
lost on me
because I don't even know how I made it 23 years
let alone another second after the day she died

Something switched on
Realizing I can only move forward
and rebuild
a new life
a new me
a new reality
Morgana Phoenix Alexander is its name

I moved home
for the first time in my whole life
Where green trees
brush against perfect blue skies

I learned hard lessons
in 18 months
Not just from the books
I slaved over in school
But the lessons
I was never taught
Having to grow up quick
too quick
So painful
and I fought against it almost every step of the way

Until she sat me down
God bless her wise old Scottish soul
and asked me
“Who are you rebelling against?"

So Tressa Morgan Whitney died
laid to rest
with nothing but a paragraph to summarize her passing

And Morgana Phoenix Alexander
was born and graduated
at age 24
A healthier baby girl
Standing 5' 7 3/4"
and we just won’t discuss her weight
Still with bright brown eyes
that drank in the world around her
and thoughts that passed through her mind
like butterflies in an open field in summer

And with pen in hand
and paper at the ready
I finished the first book
Vent: Emotions in writing
Brown glossy cover
housing writings from age 13 - 21
And continued to work on the next chapter
Phoenix Rising

Over time, the writing has changed
felt on deeper levels than I ever knew I was capable of
back at the 'ready world? - Here I am!' age of 16
I've broken down love to a spiritual level
Made peace with my makers
Mourned for things many won't understand
Felt the fires of passion run wild and free
Found true joy and bliss,
and understood that contentment is indeed
a pearl of great price

But now there's a transition
where these words are begging to be shared
screamed even
out loud
off the page
and leaking into other people’s consciousness
by way of sound waves

Writing words not to be read
but spoken
Transformation within
ready to be unveiled
Knowing part of me is still unable to keep a secret
especially my own

And as long as there is breath in my body
I will pour out words
to tell my story