SPILLED INK

I actually love the "poetic lines" I sometimes write and how stupidly earnest they are despite sounding dramatic, idiotic, and somewhat pathetic. I think those are the things that evoke the most feeling because they're so real, just jotting down a quick thought, and when I look at them later I'm ashamed to have shared it with the world. And I think in a lot of cases that's the heart of poetry, that feeling that you've just exposed your soul but you can't put it back. And you think ''its no big deal, nobody's really seen it, I can just delete it" but then you stop and keep it there and it feels like vulnerability, and vulnerability feels like strength. I lay my heart bare for so many people and so many have taken advantage of that but I refuse to hide myself away because that feels more like weakness than putting my emotions on display.

Whoever first said that poetry is dead failed to provide the autopsy. If poetry is dead, what a rowdy and glorious ghost. Poetry haunts. Poetry permeates the walls we put up. Poetry startles us awake and into our own aliveness. Poetry rustles the hairs on the backs of our necks and chases us into more compassionate rooms. Though it is difficult to change a stubborn mind, poetry can change our hearts in an instant.

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