“Take this class,” says my advisor.

Poetry? I think. Ugh, fine.

More reading stuff I can’t understand—

How exciting.

 

First day of class.

Four anthologies—that’s too much!

But

we can write poetry too?

 

Sounds better to me.

 

The weeks go by.

The ice begins to thaw.

The sun begins to warm 

the frozen ground.

 

Actually, 

this whole poetry thing

isn't so bad after all.

 

My soul pours into the words

on blank document after blank document.

The layers peel.

 

The pains and the joys

Unleash

With every letter that appears.

 

Struggles are revealed,

happiness is shared,

frustrations made known

to each other

 

and there is no judgement. 

 

My faith in the Lord

becomes the focus 

of my poetry.

I know this is the only

thing that true art

can come from me. 

 

At times, I sit before 

the Holy Eucharist,

scribbling away 

words of praise 

for my Lord. 

 

Because of my poems

I can share His love now

without fear.

 

They can come to know Him

through creativity.

 

And no one judges. 

 

Our final portfolio presentation

arrives just as quickly 

as the first day of class. 

 

I share my worship and praise

written on paper

from the depths of my heart.

 

And walking out afterwards

I feel bittersweet.

 

"Take this class," my advisor had said.

Poetry,  I think to myself. 

It's definitely changed my life.