Poetry as Therapy

Old wounds heal but leave scars.  Sometimes writing about them clarifies, or gives you permission for your feelings, even as you try to move forward.

Here's the process and result of today's rumination;

I already had in my head that the #microprompt for yesterday was 'cloth'

 

Have I worn sackcloth and ashes long enough?

How long will you punish me?

How long will I punish myself?

I have walked barefoot through your verbal gravel

I never allowed calluses to grow, but I could not stop the scars

The bleeding has mostly stopped

I can hold my head up again

I’m just not sure I want to.

I noticed lots of 2 word phrases, so I tried cinquains (remember, cinquains are 5 line stanzas with syllable counts of 2,4,6,8,2. Often the 2 worder line is the key).

How long

Will you exact

Abject penance from me?

How long will I punish myself

For truth?

Have I

Walked over words

Of broken glass and spite

Enough to placate your ego?

How long?

The wounds

Are mostly scarred

I imagine holding can hold my head up

My head up again

I can stand tall again

But I can’t decide if I want

To try.

Have I

Humbled myself

Worn sackcloth and ashes

Enough for you to forgive me simple forgiveness

My pain?

I was

Too trusting

Naïve or innocent

To allow calluses to form  grow,

Protect.

A little rearranging and polishing and that resulted in:

How long

will you exact

abject penance from me?

How long will I punish myself

for truth?

Have I

humbled myself,

worn sackcloth and ashes

enough for you to forgive me

my pain?

Have I

walked over words

of broken glass and spite

enough to placate your ego?

How long?

I was

too trusting,

naïve or innocent

to allow calluses to grow,

protect.

The wounds

have mostly scarred.

I can stand tall again

but I can’t decide if I want

to try.

 

Responding to prompts

Today's prompt at #wtwrites  is  to write about hunger.

Here is some of my thought process:

The first line is what came to me first.  After creating the 1st 'thought,'  the form revealed itself as 5 line stanzas, the first sentence posing a problem, and the second providing an answer.  The strikeouts are removals, and the underlines are phrases added, usually to replace something else.

You are not chocolate cake

to be pushed back across a table

with a polite demur. 

Resistance to you

requires a different kind of will power resolve.

Fingertips are dangerous,

lips lie, a lingering look

risks intimacy

Connection is risky

My satisfaction

does not require your One’s eyes to be open.

Outright denial is not an option

But concealing the heart

Provides an alibi.

Call it cowardice, or call it will power

The result is the same.

Finished, though perhaps not the final edit:

Is resistance futile?

You are not chocolate cake

to slide back across a table

with a polite demur. 

Resistance to you

requires a different kind of  resolve.

Fingertips are dangerous,

lips lie, a lingering look

risks intimacy

My satisfaction

does not require your  eyes to be open.

Outright denial is not an option

but concealing the heart

provides an alibi.

Call it cowardice, or call it will power

the result is the same.

Microprompts

I've been pleased with how useful a platform Twitter can be for sharing poetry.  I've discovered several hashtags for prompts, one of which is #Microprompt  Each day the prompt is a single word. 

The prompt for Apr 15 was 'mud.'

In First Place

Princess of the urban forest

competing in diaper swim suit.

No beauty queen sash,

but now a full-length evening gown of mud.

Not yet able to master the wave,

but gets all 10s for the smile

and the squeal

as the garden hose

dresses her down.

On Apr 13 it was 'give.'

 

A long April

The rain giveth and the rain taketh away.

Nothing to be done but remember last year’s sun.

Slip off the running shoes.

Sprout seeds in hope of summer.

Soothe the dark with a seat by a fire.

Savor a crisp of saved-up berries

warm from the oven.