harmony’s poetry

October grief is lonely. It sets your memories ablaze and makes nostalgia burn in ways you were never trained to extinguish.

October grief is quiet. October grief is loud. October is long and the grief has teeth and suddenly nothing makes sense anymore. The grief separates you from your sense of direction, sense of self.

Separates.

Grief is contradictory. Grief is everything and nothing you prepared for. Grief is all of and somehow none of the above but any answer you select is wrong. Is right. Is neither. Grief is sad, October is sad, you are sad.

Will the healed breaks still be visible?

Will she accept them back into her or will she refuse to touch them?

Will they still reek of fear? Are they still steeped in sadness? Did they finally stop shaking?

Who were you?

Was it worth it?

Were you?

Do you even remember being alive?

Does that possibility make your blood run cold?

Can you bear to fathom the chance she’ll deny you your final request?

Does unexecuted and unfound potential terrify you?

………………………..

Years later, more of an adult than a child but still in the middle, I throw my penny into the water of the fountains and my wish has been the same ever since:

of another year

of another year

this is all part of being a poet. of being any writer, honestly, but especially poets. you have to be okay with writing poems that don’t fit your own criteria, you have to be okay with writing poems that ultimately lead to nowhere. you have to be okay with writing absolute shit because sometimes through all that shit you’ll get some good shit. 

writing poetry is all about writing shitty poetry, too.

and don’t let the fear of writing badly stop you from writing. writing badly is better than not writing. writing a bad poem is still creating poetry.

omg holy shit please do!!!! like, i would love that. all art is inspired by other art - maybe that art is a sunset or another person's poem or a tv show or a movie or lived experiences - it's all art!! if ANYTHING i have ever said inspires even a small amount of someone else's creativity, i would LOVE to see it.

so i make them bleed.

and they tell me that pain is beauty and madness is genius.