Writing the Pain: Creativity for Emotional Support

Here's a collection of poems I wrote when I was struggling with the situationship earlier this year. I cannot emphasis enough how doing some sort of creative outlet to process your feelings is magic. OK, not literal magic, and definitely not an instant feel better, but it helps tremendously sort out what happened, deal with the ick, and move on. Writing my pain for three months was one of the main things that saved me. I highly recommend it. So get your art on! Write! Paint! Crochet! Craft! Decorate! Make jewelry! Cook! Landscape! Whatever! Being creative is a great emotional support.

the other shoe

my tiny sullen tenement

heaps of broken dishes and dirty clothes

crammed to the rafters with wailing adults

and malnourished babies trying to console them

I hear the thud

                         thud

                                thud

of shoes rain down on my head

I cower, naked,

crouched in a ball on the cold linoleum

hands over my head

hair wet and matted

vacant eyes peeking out

wincing with every

thud

       thud

              thud

what if I put on two of these shoes

mismatched

ill-fitting

ugly

holy

and walk out the door of this slum

skin still bare

hair still dripping

into the sun

virus

you made me so wet

but I was making mucus

to fight your infection

hair standing on end

a call to arms

cells bristling against the invasion

whispers and kisses were

coughing and sneezing

body trying to expel you before

you infected me

no defense

immune system had

a 32 year famine

the inflammation of my eyes

tried to protect me

couldn't see you drain the color from

my white blood cells

no meds for viruses

wait them out

sickly green

cough and wheeze

blow and freeze

fever raging

body achy

mind racing

reinforcements kicked in

T-cells friends rallied

mind made antibodies

B-cells to remember this pain

for the next exposure

the days are getting longer

and the nights are getting shorter

seeing your virus in the light

clears my congestion

my fever breaks

color returns to my cheeks

time to vaccinate

and get all the boosters

and the crowd goes wild

thirsty for a whiskey

hands are clammy

rubbing them on my jeans does nothing

mouth sewn up in a frown

and itchy legs

constantly itchy after shaving

itchy like a mother fucker

but the show must go on

the performance of my lifetime

a 49,831 day run

I walk out onto the stage

blink

smile through my sewn on frown

and the crowd goes wild

into the ground

bury me

I'm dead

place my body gently

into the ground

no coffin, no funeral, no weeping

spilt milk shouldn't be sipped

off the floor with a straw

return me to the soil

I was microorganisms

fungi and minerals

nematodes and decaying plants

I built in life

let me build in death

hold up the fragile petunias

fertilize the prolific violas and heather

strangle the weeds with my roots

water the roses with my blood

to make them bloom red

take off your shoes

I am hallowed ground

decomposing electricity shoots out of me

into the soles of feet that walk on me

then out fingertips, nipples, and eyelashes

into the atmosphere

bury me

I'm dead

place my body gently

into the ground

stapling

the Bible says hell is hot

that I'll burn a thousand times

for my transgressions

nope

hell is cold

and soaking wet

naked

mascara streaking down my cheeks

small oceans sloshing in my shoes

the skeleton of an umbrella mocks me

I hold it over my head in hope

waterlogged and shivering

stapling raindrops back into clouds

paper child

tossing in the wind

winces with every tumble

every scrape along hard concrete

wears its soft virginity thin

(a dry leaf at least has rigor mortis)

no protection from the elements

snags on bushes and trees

new rips in its delicate body

absorbs the foul excrement from the neighbor dog

no smell of new words

drowns in mud puddles

callously discarded

to fend for itself

collects along a fence like garbage

gets run over by a car like roadkill

not written on

only written off

the indomitable snow woman

the indomitable snow woman cannot be tamed

her voice rises over fences and roof lines

greeting the morning sun i

t directs rush hour traffic throughout the day

and croons a lullaby

to put the moon to sleep each night

heat does not melt her

cold does not unnerve her

she is a breezy 23.33 with clear skies

her right hand knows what her left hand is doing

the work in tandem to accomplish and kick ass

mobs try to riot her away

armies take her to war

but the indomitable snow woman is unflappable

making molehills out of mountains

and moments into memories

her blood communes with the stars

her sweat water flowers

her compassion swims the depths of the sea

Ra, Flora, and Poseidon are green

the indomitable snow woman cannot be tamed

it is her voice that saves her

her strength and heart that fortify her

her brain that guides her