
A lot of people will tell you to journal in order to process your feelings. It’s a worthwhile pursuit. I believe in the power of the written word, no matter who is doing the writing. But journaling, for me, was never really the way I wanted to express the things that I was feeling. So I turned instead to writing poems.
Sometimes the poems are exactly what I want to say on the first draft. Sometimes they require revision. Sometimes they are so bland and ordinary that there is nothing worth revising. Sometimes they say nothing of consequence. Sometimes they say everything in just a few words. Sometimes they ramble.
I haven’t written many poems over the past ten years, but occasionally, poetry feels like the best way to process what I’m feeling. I find that when the dark parts of life come to roost, a poem can say what I need to say better than any other media. In a poem, I can be honest and authentic in ways that I can’t in an essay, an open letter, a short story or a journal entry. I can draw the reader (and myself) further into my pain through a poem. I can show my true self. I can use it to heal.
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Socks
Once when my sister was over, she was watching me fold laundry as we talked. When I got to the bottom of the basket, where all the mismatched socks were, she said “Wow, you have a graveyard of socks.” This phrase, a graveyard of socks, has stuck in my mind ever since. I think about…
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Down to the Ground
Didn’t you tell me Not to eat my own brain with my thoughts Those intrusive falsehoods that wind their way in Like worms or spiders Those thoughts that tunnel through the sponge Which is soft and delicious and easy to digest. Didn’t you tell me not to do that? You told me to call you…
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Reflection
Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror Count all the scars that have somehow shown up in my Gray hairs and smile lines and crow’s feet And I wonder if this is what people see when they look at me Or if they see something different than the pain That I feel is plainly…
