The purpose of poems

When I am doing well, my mind normally doesn’t turn to poetry. I’m not the type of person who typically writes “happy” poems. When I write poems, it’s usually because I’m having a really hard time, and they are often pretty dark.

When I’m struggling, words don’t come very easily. Often I may have a feeling, or a sense of something, but no words to accompany it. So it’s hard for me to write out in great length or detail or description what is going on for me.

Poetry, however, doesn’t need the right words. It doesn’t need to sound pretty. It doesn’t need to make sense. For me, poetry is simply the written form of my emotions. Sometimes they make sense, sometimes they don’t.. Sometimes they might sound nice, other times they don’t.. But the purpose of writing poetry, unlike regular prose, is providing a voice to things buried and hidden. At least that’s what poetry is for me. It gives expression to things I otherwise wouldn’t be able to express.

With my regular blog entries, you get the words that I chose to share with you. A tiny, minuscule portion of myself. With my poems, you are getting to peek into my very core. You get to experience part of the inner workings of me and what takes place in my mind and heart. Whereas with my regular writings, you are seeing purely my shell.

When I was a teenager, I had poetry flowing out of every pore of me. Sadly, when I was about 22, I burned each and every diary and journal I’d ever written in from the ages of 10 to 22. At the time, I was trying to “start anew” and purge myself of my past. That’s one of my biggest regrets – burning all those journals and notebooks full of my writings. Full of my poems. Now I’m getting a chance to make up for that I suppose.

Thank you all for giving me the opportunity to share a deep and personal part of myself through my poems. Please hold them gently, as you would a baby bird, or a precious stone. They are a piece of me, after all.



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2 responses to “The purpose of poems

  1. I did the same thing with my journals and writings, once at 18 and again at 41, both before suicide attempts. I didn’t want my family to read them. What a mistake… I really regret doing this…. Really enjoying reading your blog. I can relate to so many things you are writing about.

    • Thank you so much for sharing. I’m sorry you can relate, since it’s an awful feeling wanting to take back something you can’t undo. Thank you so much for your kind words, they really mean a lot.

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