Sometimes life is hard. In those hard moments writing, especially poetry, helps me. It has always been therapy for me as well as a creative outlet. Words are my soul. Words make up so much of who I am. Even though the things I may have felt in moments, days or weeks of depression, despair, frustration, hopelessness, etc. fade the words still mean something to me. And maybe they will mean something to someone else as well. That is one of the reasons I love poetry so much. It can touch someone through time and distance in so many different ways. Here are a couple of poems that may not be how I feel now, but are how I felt at some point and may be how someone else has felt or is feeling.
Honeysuckle Poison by Tacy Gibbons Scent of honeysuckle. Nostalgia hits. I can see the fence where its white flowers grew. Smells of heaven and childhood. Picking blossoms and sucking the sweet nectar down. Memories now poisoned with the knowledge of your lies, the truth of what you really were polluting the sweetness like poison. Reaching through time and memories, choking on the bitter reality, the past now tainted by your toxicity. Yet, I rise up through the fallen petals, let the poison fade. The wave of nostalgia washes over and retreats. And I am left only with the sweet scent of honeysuckle.
A Day In the Life by Tacy Gibbons I am the captured tiger, beaten into submission, thrown into a cage. My master holds the only key. Head hanging, shoulders hunched, sad eyes look longingly for the dream I used to live. Master asks me to lift my head, swish my tail and purr. He needs life to feel normal again. I sit in patience, surrounded by bars, lift my head, swish my tail and purr, hoping to please, hoping for companionship. Master walks by, smiles and pats my head . . . then wanders off, leaving me to my cage and defeat. I am the captured tiger, beaten into submission, thrown into a cage. My master holds the only key. And I wonder— if he ever lets me out, will I want to go? Or will the caged life be all I remember? All I want to know? Or maybe—will I run? Run to freedom and never look back.
Breaking the Silence 