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.

  • I Noticed

    I noticed that you said nothing after it became public knowledge And I noticed that you didn’t send me a Christmas card Or reach out on the anniversary that you knew would be difficult I noticed how absent you were How your tight smile and averted eyes Greeted me as I approached, Yes, I even…

  • Breaking Up

    He wrote a breakup letter Blaming me for all his faults An offering of pride Patched together with the shame He should have felt but couldn’t, Because then he’d have no one To sacrifice except himself. The breakup letter contained a list A litany of lies That laid out every scarlet sin I never committed…

  • The Olive Branch

    Hey God, just a quick question I can’t seem to find the protocol For offering an olive branch.  Seems like the olive branch Comes from the offender, And not the offended. Wasn’t it you who sent the floods? Yet, Noah, the last one standing  After the violence, sent the dove. I’m curious how one determines…