I normally don’t share my poetry with even those close to me, let alone the general public. But the past few months I’ve started realizing poetry is a crucial part of who I am as a writer. It’s pages from my diary, my heart, my head, but I don’t think I should keep it bottled up the way I usually do. I used to have notebook after notebook filled with songs and poems and I threw them all away because, “No one will ever see them anyway.”
I really wish I could find those dang notebooks now. I may have had some awesome, angsty stuff in there.
So I have decided, as of just now, to make it a goal to start publishing more of my poems, whether I think they are good or not. Even if I think they are terrible, maybe someone else can find some solace in them. Here’s one I wrote months ago I had completely forgotten about:
I try to feel the air under my arms,
wide and wavering.
But there is water weighing me down.
Breathe, one, two, three.
I am falling and floating
but seeing what I am in the distance.
I may never get there
but this noise and blinding lights and heart attacks
simply make my journey.