writing

I did not find poetry
it found me
amongst the chaos
the uncertainty
it took me by the hand
gentle fingers of familiarity
it was not a loud experience
no fireworks, confetti
or joyous shouts of understanding

I did not say
who are you?
I said
oh, there you are

I did not ask
how do I write?
instead, I said
could you pass me a pen?

It was natural interest
not a natural gift
I have practised the craft for years
and still, there are days
I cannot write at all
I do not have the skill
to pour on demand

But when the time comes
there is no greater earthly honour
to be open
vulnerable, exposed
conceiving words born of fear
love, hope
nostalgia, grief
anxiety, romance
heartbreak and healing

It is an indescribable feeling

I did not look for poetry
but I will forever be a vessel
a means of putting more love in the world
I may not be a mother yet
but I have nurtured and conceived
words
poetry

healing

and I will forever be healing.

17:57pm – 01/04/24.