Most days I like, even admire, my blunt style of writing. I find relief in honesty – a hurts-so-good sensation, similar to infection leaving a wound – and I like to imagine that someone, somewhere experiences a similar feeling when they read what I write and discover they’re not alone. But there are moments when I wish my prose was poetry, burying the most vulnerable bits of myself in language that could be interpreted myriad ways, giving me the release I’m seeking without the raw exposure.
If I were a poet, I would cast aside the mantle of strong, single mother and remove the word resilient from the dictionary. I would cease my endeavors to find a method in my madness and dare to write about even the most unflattering sides of myself.
If I were a poet, I would share my insecurities without appearing fragile. I would spread my fears around me like a carpet of colorful leaves. You’d be distracted by their volume and they’d blow away before you had a chance to take them in.
If I were a poet, I would reveal how much I miss the men who’ve left me without sounding weak or opening myself up to platitudes from people who have never walked in my shoes. I would write about lonely nights and rainy weekends, without sounding sappy, and admit I miss being held – not hugged, held.
If I were a poet, I would paint my experiences of abandonment green, then bury them all in well fertilized soil and watch something good begin to grow. The fruit of this imaginary plant would feed my children, sating their unspoken needs, and its leaves would wrap around all three of us, providing the protection and love we’ve missed so much.
But I’m not a poet, so this will have to do.
May I repost this? Please? Your prose IS poetry. I attribute it to you, of course.
Absolutely. Post away!
Oh yes you are a poet. This post proves it!
❤️
This is poetry I can relate to. You definitely are a poet.
Leah, starting at the top: we have so little fall foliage in Lubbock now that your photo of the multitude of gorgeous leaves made me sigh with longing. As to the rest: what is this entire post, if not narrative poetry? Your writing–in any form–is exquisite: evocative, incisive, provoking and soothing in turn, and I’m always eager and excited to jump in when I see a new post. I’d say your “blunt style” is simply poetic in the best way. I have more thoughts about the actual content of what you’ve written, but suffice it to say that this is, in my very critical and judgmental opinion, written expression in ultimate form.
Poetry takes many forms and you my friend, are a poet!
Your words paint a picture that reaches into the dark crevices of my heart, giving words where there were none. I look forward to reading and feeling more of your poetry.
I found your blog after searching for the Emily Dickinson quote, “I am out with lanterns…”. This is a very challenging time in life for me and your words have been like a balm on my heart – especially this piece. Thank you. I hope you continue writing.
Bethany, thank you for your comment and encouragement to keep writing. So glad you found me!