I have always been into poetry for as long as I can remember it has always just Vibe with me. Moved me in ways that I guess is supposed too. But as a kid, young adult and hell, even as an adult feels like magic,
Edgar Allan Poe,
Robert Frost,
Harry Longfellow,
William Shakespeare,
Emily Dickens.
I’ve read all of the classics and all at a young age. I ate it all up, broke them down and try to dissect them as much as I could.
I used to Print out my favorite poems and tape them all over my bedroom wall.
Throw a dart at a classic famous poem/poet and it definitely had a place on my wall.
I carried poetry books with me everywhere I went (okay I still do that.)
I lived and breathe poetry.
But I never really wrote it. Sure, I would dapple in it, I wrote poetry in the sense that people kept journals or diaries.
When I was upset I would write down how I was feeling in a metaphorical way so it was easier to process.
But that’s all it was. I didn’t pay attention to structure, words or how they flowed. And I sure as hell didn’t show it to anyone.
It was just something to get the feelings out of my heart and off of my chest. And then to be locked away never to be seen again.
Over time I shifted my focus. As much as I love poetry. I was trying to write and publish novels. So I was reading books and spending free time reading up on writing novels.
And yet I still always carried a poetry book everywhere I went. I would pull out my old copy of ‘compilations of Robert Frost’ or ‘sonnets of William Shakespeare’ when I had to wait in waiting rooms Or wait around for people to show up.
It was such a calming thing. I would flip through the worn out pages and smelled the mildew basement old book smell.
Even if I didn’t read a single word. Just feeling the texture of the old pages and seeing the patterns of the poems was enough.
But over the last couple of years, I had switched jobs and the dread of that change was setting in. That I wasn’t cut out for it. That I was doomed to be stuck at another job that I despised with every cell in my body.
On top of that a lot of other parts of my life was bringing up complicated feelings and new insecurities that I never had before.
And I already have issues with my feelings so new ones that I didn’t really know how to handle it was getting to the point of affecting how I lived.
I felt the weight of all of it on my shoulder.
And that’s when I Started back up in writing my feels as poems again.
Writing my feelings,
worries,
doubts
anything and everything down.
I paid more attention to the details and how I wrote it. It was actually pretty good.
I started sharing my work. Showing and refining it, putting just as much work and attention to it as I do with novels.
For most of the year that’s all I have been writing.
Don’t get me wrong. I still LOVE writing novels and stories. It’s so much apart of who I am that not writing stories would be like deciding one day to stop eating forever.
But I feel comfortable with stories. I know what I’m doing. I feel so sure with it. Which isn’t a bad thing not at all.
But with writing poems. I’m get to explore new parts of my soul.
who I am as a person. I can feel my walls expanding as I grow as a person because of it. Exploring the ever growing being that is me.
It’s learning a new skill and there’s always something so thrilling about not knowing what the hell you’re doing.
And I get to fall in love with writing all over again.
As for where I’m going with my new love for writing poem, that’s yet to be determined. For now I’m just having fun exploring this new love for writing.
With this new chapter in my writing
So here’s just a small little poem I wrote, and hopefully you enjoy.
Until next time!
Leave a Reply