• taratalks

How Poetry Has Helped Me

Writing poetry has been very therapeutic for me, because it’s given me a little distance from my feelings, but yet a way to articulate them – particularly when I don’t know how. Relative to my personal circumstances (and to the potential within us all) I am living half a life and voicing that is difficult. I can, somehow, be more vulnerable in poetry... maybe I ‘forgive myself for the drama’ and allow myself to not play it down, because it’s artistic?

If I was to write some of the phrases I have used in poetry down in writing I think I would (wrongly) chastise myself… ohh, look at her being all self-obsessed and dramatic. As it’s different from the way I would usually speak, there’s that separation, but I was always a more poetic teenager- in my head anyway- than I let on!!!

I feel I can be more vulnerable in poetry and can say things I would never be able to verbalise, at least at this stage in my recovery. The style of writing can make me more direct about my trauma, rather than skirting around or denying it, as I will often do. It also helps me cover more feelings than facts. (Ok, well lets be honest, I still skirt around my beliefs and feelings, but maybe less!)

I choose to sometimes include poetry in my blog, as it introduces ideas and helps me open up. There have been many times when I haven’t known what I feel until the feelings become a line of poetry. Don’t overthink it – just let it flow!

Examples:

A Poem

I feel so empty Like my body is just a huge open cavity

I don t care about my feelings There is almost too my depth there The pain hurts too much but, at the same time I’m exquisitely numb The numb soul is being prodded by a needle repeatedly And it aches I don t know if I’m alive or dead

……………………..

SNIPPETS OF POEMS…

I inhale as if exasperated and the sharp twinge

hits me at my core

It’s like my body’s saying this is real, this is

excruciating

and you can’t avoid it anymore

………………………

Question Mark

I don t know how to feel my feelings But do feel less than nothing, less than worthless Can’t connect words with the pain of the trauma Crying and letting it out would be perfect I say things that would be hard for others With no emotion whatsoever Laugh, smile, deny, shrug off Will my numbness frighten me forever? (AND THE ENDING…)

Because I was a joke I was defective; the broken, faulty, despicable one My feelings and my soul didn’t matter No wonder I believed them and wanted to run

……………………..

Wanting to rip my skin off

Wanting to be anyone but me

Feeling broken and like everyone can tell

Body memories, stomach pains

Supressed memories and self-hatred hell

It leaves you with a gaping hole

And deep routed scars

The inability to love yourself

Or open up your heart

There comes a point when doing something is better than doing nothing

Can’t keep holding it in

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