Moonlight trickles in through my open window.
A faint summers breeze sneaks in with the moonlight,
and caresses my paper rhythmically.
The familiar scratch of pen against paper,
pen against paper
joins the melody, and is like a private symphony.
I begin to hum and soon I've created a masterpiece.
I leave it all on the page, everything.
The words I could never say aloud but escape
through the lips of my ballpoint pen.
Paper, my eager yet somehow patient audience.
Their only critique that I pour out more of my soul, and write more
Poetry has taught me to be intentional.
I observe what I've written,
feeling the imprint of the letters
on the back of the paper
reading it like brail.
I, inhale and exhale
hoping that the letters will combine and spell out my truth.
"Here, lies the writings of a broken woman."
Poetry has taught me that healing is not linear.
Just as surely as night flows into day and
day into night, the sun rises.
Lighting the sky in a gradient
of Air Force and Carolina blue.
The transition from twilight to daybreak,
dawn, the sunrise, a new day,
it goes by many names.
Poetry has taught me that my emotions and musings
don't have to stay confined in the corners of my mind.
Poetry has taught me that my voice matters,
that my words don't have to be trapped
behind padlocked lips.
Poetry has taught me that I have the key,
The key to my happiness, my peace.