April 30, 2025
So, when you least want to write poetry,
It is, perhaps, when you need it the most.
You want to retreat and just let things be,
So you hide and weep and become a ghost.
It can feel like it is all a bother,
Some days, it can feel like all you can do;
Putting one foot in front of the other,
One at a time, a shoe after each shoe.
And it is from pain that we find our art,
Pulling poetry from our very pores.
And from anxiety, we paint our part,
And all the while we’re screaming “nevermore!”
But art lets us share what we are feeling,
It gives us pause and begins the healing.