Well, I've done it. I've sent nine little pieces of me out into the world to be meticulously weighed and measured by strangers at two upstanding literary institutions. Awesome. (Yes, that is sarcasm you detect.) If this is what accomplishment feels like, let me tell you, I could live without the nausea.
On one hand, submitting my poetry feels a bit like child rearing. Truthfully -- I incubated these pieces for months, worried about them, named them, and then I have to let them go with strangers. It's like sending my daughter to daycare for the first time all over again! Then, on the other hand, I feel a huge sense of relief. I have done my part and the rest is up to the powers that be.
All I can do at this point is make sure my friends and family are ready for my pending moodiness should I get turned down (Be ready with the pep talks, guys! Not corny ones either - I have a great bullshit detector). On the outside I'll be full of swagger and moxy saying, "those douche nozzles don't know a moving and provocative poem from a melting Popsicle". But on the inside I'll be like an acne ridden 13 year old who didn't get picked for couples skate, feeling low and insecure. Let's hope that doesn't happen...I've been there before. It's ugly.