Nobody Would Have Ever Known Poem by Julia Luber

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by how much there is to write about,
get creative about, understand a fiction upon, muse around. But
other times I feel a vapid blank…..even an angry pang: that I could not
base a character upon that person. That that person's nature would not
somehow flood me with tangents to a fictional invention putting what it is
I experience about that person to better use, to some use for myself. It
is a bit slippery. It is a bit sly. But my point is: that there are days when
I feel like I could not detach myself from what it is I am working on creatively
even if it would mean a million dollars! And yet there are other days that I am
completely empty of a creative sergeancy, a force that needs to do whatever
it is that I do while I am writing. Am I escaping? Or am I trying to turn a very
bad and hurtful and upsetting thing into a great thing somehow? Which is it
that I am doing? Am I trying to kill somebody by somehow writing them into
extinction because I know I am not going to kill them for real. I know that.
I know that I don't do that. But I must want to sometimes. And it must make me
feel awfully powerless not to be able to do so sometimes. And I must have that
much anger, rage, pain, frustration and yes, even jealousy, within me to feel like
I want to do that sometimes. But I know that I won't get to. And I know that I am
not going to. And I know that "God" is not going to do that for me. I know that
God is not going to do that for me. And perhaps I even question the existence
of God because of these people who I want to kill. And that makes me angry.
But I don't do that. So I write these poems. Some of them filled with so much
anger that perhaps some of you have stopped reading me. But perhaps some of
you feel a tidbit relieved and vaguely comforted by these terrible vengeance poems.
And I am sorry to those of you who do not like them….who they scare and make
uncomfortable. Honestly, I am not out to do that. But I do recognize that some of them
are very compulsive and angry and twisted. And I am sorry to myself for ever having
had to go there. Really. But it is better than heading straight to suicide which is where
I first went long ago when I first wanted to kill somebody I had been close to. I had not
known the feeling ever before. It twisted directly into killing myself. For real. And how
horrifying that would have been: that I had killed myself strictly because I could not accept
nor grow familiar with my desire to kill somebody else. And these days, the politicians
call HATE to be such a bad thing. And make us feel so much worse. Hate is as natural
a human emotion as Love. And yes, usually, it is political issues which steep somebody
in Hate like an old tea bag all day. But I hope I have helped some of you….honestly I do.
Even maybe helped prevent a couple of suicides and deaths because of how alienating
and terrible that unknown emotion of hate is. And sometimes it is so rational. And sometimes
it is so intelligent. And sometimes it is so reasonable and real. And to so disparage it,
in public: it does some of us in. I hope I have made it feel that it is okay. Sadly, yes,
it will return even if you cure some of it for awhile. But don't let your hate towards somebody
else EVER turn you in on yourself and prevaricate suicide. Don't let it happen. Accept your
hate. Love your hate. Revere your hate. Know that it is as intelligent and honest and good
as your love sometimes. Don't let it make you feel suicidal. Please. That is letting those
things that make you feel so much hate WIN! Really. And we don't want that to happen.
Do we? But I came very close to suicide many decades ago from not understanding that it
was somebody else I wanted to kill. Being too delicate, humanistic, pleasant, and sensual
of a person- appreciative and loving-to understand that so much hate that meant the need
and desire to kill existed within me. It surprised me. It took me off guard. And I came within a split second of complete suicide. And nobody would have ever really known why. Nobody would have ever known who it was I wanted to kill and why. Nobody would have ever known.
And they still don't. And they probably never will. There is no solution. C'est La Vie.