Fri, 04/22/2016 - 02:35 -- Ma. K. Daz
I forgot the first time
I ever labored
to birth a poem.
I certainly don't remember
if my first paper tattoo
even rhymed
at all.
Was it free verse
or iambic?
Was it a sonnet?
or meaningless ink?
I don't recall
the first theme
my first poem
was about.
But I do remember
a little something
about myself.
Finishing the forever
revision-needed,
I set down my pen
and felt relieved.
Writing a poem
unpinches a nerve,
fills in a hole,
and opens up
revelations.
No matter how long each line,
or short,
The way words are placed, no matter,
there is a common voice
a common truth
that speaks its own truth.
The last poem I bled,
described my paleness.
In those ink stained pages,
those short words and long letters
captured my pains and heart aches.
Each stroke of curve and line,
each emphasizing dash and dot,
each pause for a new stanza,
each smeared black blot,
--they are me,
on those pages,
mirroring myself,
I, at me, stare.
That ray of love light that poured through the chambers of my heart?
That gray stubborn cloud that rained dark rain on my brain?
Those little creatures that died without living?
Pages seven, twenty, and fifty-nine.
The desires I once had five days ago
like your hand in mine four years before?
The painful slap of remembering
and the physical agony of reliving?
Looseleafs three and four.
More than 300 poems.
filled with over four years of feelings.
From my growth to my shrinking sanity,
from my lovers who showed no sympathy,
from those I've hurt to me who hurt.
Poetry captures all.
Poetry captures me.
Poetry spares nothing,
it doesn't leave behind anybody.
It is the lens I peek through
that allows me to capture
all that I know and knew.
Poetry is the tug of line
that unclogs a blockage of dangerous emotions.
It is the loud satisfying sneeze
after a long anticipation.
Poetry lets me breathe
and saves me when I no longer want to live.
It engulfs me in its meaningful embrace.
It is my saving grace.
When nobody can I turn to
I turn to writing and poetry.
It never is a person
but words that comfort me.
Poetry, poetry.
Poetry,
poetry.
