Once upon a time, I sheltered my poetry. I filtered and censored the stanzas about heartbreak and pain; failure and loss. I held those parts close to my chest like a swaddled newborn. I wouldn’t dare let anyone hold such tender words. Perhaps one could peek at the sleeping face of a memory. Hold it? Never.
Overwhelmed by the bittersweet challenge of nurtur
ing a growing compilation of poems and prose, I found a sense of freedom in finally letting someone else hold my precious little one.
There is minuscule satisfaction in ruminating over your own creation and never sharing with the world. How else can universality be established, and another be helped to overcome if we keep our own stories of midnight and morning to ourselves?
As a writer, there are remnants of myself in each piece I write. Art is an extension of the artist, regardless of medium. There is a sense of vulnerability in sharing what we create. Fear is at the heart of holding back. When we confront fear and put it to rest, creativity can flow unhindered.
So here I am—writing and unveiling sheltered poetry. It is now time for my writing to live beyond the bounds of my arms.
Do you share your poetry?
