Poetry is consuming me. I’ve been working on creating a poem for every single PTSD blog post I’ve done in the last three years. It is very emotional and digs deep into the darkness of what I’d written about for so very long. Some poems bring forth emotions I did not expect. Tears fall, my throat gets tight and I feel I could begin to sob while I write. Those moments are the ones I question what I am doing with this year long project I’ve created for myself.
The words write themselves, they begin to come easily until they flow like water. Yet re-reading these blog entries is proving to be a painful experience. Those words, they try to open doors I thought were closed and by my writing I’m prying those doors open again.
Perhaps this is not a bad thing.
So it begins
I wanted to leave it all locked away
The file cabinet’s lock has been broken
The lies I’ve been living had prettied up my life until I believed those lies
They were like a sleeping bag I couldn’t put back in the bag again
I can’t move on
I can’t manage it all as it flies open and consumes me
I am frozen in place staring at all those hidden secrets
They cover me like snowflakes
All I can do is breathe in, breathe out
Those secrets are not stronger than me
(Also published to USFRA.org)