I will never write poetry again. The day started with a usual feeling of grief, I didn't want to go to school and I definitely didn't want to go to English class. It was first period, to early in the morning to face unnecessary emotions. The last time sending my guards on break I ended up in tears. A chest of secrets ripped from my hands by another after I had already stolen it from my heart. That morning, sitting in the center of a crowded room full of peers I had only known a year. Poetry was never a unit I enjoyed...it was the writing of it that bothered me. The extended meanings of the growth of a plant or a ball in the middle of a road, but the reading was something special. Hearing it as if it were one of those “emo” bands ______ it spoke to me like a young girl in the night time after a tough day at school. When mirrors were shattered windows, when you're patiently ________ waiting for a solution to your problems. When your train of thought is put out of commission and reopens as a racetrack. When you cry yourself to sleep on an April afternoon it's ______ as foggy____ as your mind. The class looks at the tug of war in front of them in confusion.
“Just read it already!”
Someone shouts but they are unaware that it's not a shy
“I don't want to share”
“I don't appear ready to share.” It was to early to face my “demons” Yet at that moment my secrets are an egg on the side of a pan on a Sunday morning. It cracks, he cracks as he reads, and you crack when tears stain your face. But in the most delicious way possible. When he finishes there is a moment of silence as you hang your head in shame. You don’t want them to see you cry _______This is the moment you dreaded, now they know. They know you cry at night, that you struggle just to wake up, that you haven't had that I love you moment yet. The silence is broken when he yells at you in a loving rage. He tells you that you are beautiful, that you are loved, that you do not have to hang your dreams, that you can be amazing, That your hair shouldn't hide your face:_____so you cut it. You are commanded in the most empowering way possible to smile____ and you do.
That moment was healing….
And I didn't even realize
I needed healing…..
But I didn’t even realize
Poetry is for those who need it, for those who are looking for a way to express something that can not be simply said. I no longer need poetry.