Poetry

Photo by Nicolas Messifet

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.

  • A Modern Psalm

    The monotony of my life is crushing There is no reprieve from my chores And my responsibilities never cease. My workplace is full of dismissal Coworkers who disregard my value and my expertise. These people take advantage of me Use my kindness for their own purposes And gossip behind my back. I am spread thin…

  • The Tree Swing

    My mom’s parents lived in a big old farmhouse just outside Sturgis, MI when I was little. We visited a few times a year, and always spent a week there together in the summer. It was a magical place, and my longing for it returns sometimes unbidden. My grandpa hung a wooden swing with chain…

  • A Story of Grief: Part 4

    As an empath, I feel all the things. It can be overwhelming. I don’t know how not to feel things, even if they start to consume me. Making things helps. Being creative helps. Writing helps. This poem is one of the outpourings of the healing process. The dark hours are the worst They are long…