Breathing Poetry

I decided a long time ago that I would not live in the box that some other people choose to. My mother told me that as I child I nearly always made some form of expression. She said by the time I learned my first sentence, I started making up words that didn’t exist by using the words I learned. In conversation, I still have the tendency to make up a word. For it often seems that the English language does not have a word to explain how I feel. “Goed” is probably one of my favorites, I try my best to practice “dogoodery” on a daily basis, and “unselfexpressionalistic” is the word I made for an introvert, long before I knew what an introvert was. It is not just that like to write poetry; it is more that I need to. If there is any noun that I could say draws me to writing, I would say that it is my soul. The world is filled with individuals who can hear. However, I have noticed that those of us who really listen are not as abundant. Ultimately, this told me that writing is truly the best way to express myself. When the spoken word can be misconceived the written word is solid, and impervious to being misheard. One can read a line over and over, and it is the chance to look again, to read again, to try again... and perhaps... to understand again, that gives writing the poetry awe-worthy power that is holds. I have never considered writing poetry a desire, it is a must. Writing poetry is like breathing underwater. It is far more difficult than I could ever fathom, but utterly essential to my existence in a world submerged by reality. Even now, I thrive on living outside the box. For the air is much fresher, and there is far more room to stretch an arm or two.