Yesterday as I started National Poetry Month with a whimper I thought, why is this not coming to me at all?
I mean last time I did it, it was hard, I remember it being very hard, but I did a poem a day. Yes, a few days were Haiku, Sundays especially seemed to be good Haiku days, but I wrote a lot of free verse and structured verse. I even wrote a freaking sonnet. And...a lot of it was good.
I know I always say I write Bad Poetry, but that's more of a joke than a reality. Because poetry is hard. Let's just start there and acknowledge that it's hard. Anyone who writes poetry can tell you that. You need not only mastery of language but one of feelings as well. And GOOD poetry? Well that's even harder. Because then you need a mastery of language and a mastery of feelings AND a way to convey both of those things in a way that is general enough for public consumption but feels personal to each person reading it.
So a lot of poetry seems mawkish or worse, boring.
And a lot of creative people have a phase of their lives (generally middle school or high school) where they crank out a TON of really bad overwrought poetry. Because you are dealing with a lot of really overwhelming emotions around that time and have no idea how to process them.
I always get a little bent when people try to discount young love as just not that serious. "Oh it's just puppy love" well have you ever loved a puppy? It's one of the most heart filling experiences ever. And it doesn't even have to be your puppy. Now imagine you had never ever seen a puppy before and suddenly you are exposed to a fluffy golden retriever puppy who wants to do nothing else but be your best friend. It's overwhelming because you've never experienced it before.
First loves. First breakups. First loss of friendship. All of that is so hard because it's new. You have no defenses against it. Like an immune system facing a brand new virus for the first time. That shit can kill you. Or at least feel like someone has ripped out your heart and shredded it.
And we don't take it seriously enough. If a friend gets divorced or even ends a long term relationship that wasn't a marriage we have all of the appropriate sympathy, or at least fake it for them. We know that it's hard for them. We don't say things like it wasn't serious, you don't feel what you think you're feeling. So they can mourn and move on.
That doesn't happen in middle school and high school. People discount those feelings, and we don't even have the right words to talk about them. So it overflows into really bad poetry.
But to write really good poetry you need to have a different grasp on language and emotions. Like now. I'm a full grown adult person who happens to be pretty fucking good with words. I can even make you feel things about pretend people.
So that explains why in 2016 I able to sit down and write a poem a day. But why can't I seem to tap it now? What was different in 2016?
I was depressed.
Like normally my swings are mild. Manic and depressive but on a small pendulum and a consistent swing. And I manage it all without medication. I use workouts, sunshine and saltwater. And it keeps me in my swing arc and I do okay. Sometimes up, sometimes down, a lot of time in the middle. But 2016 was a long stretch of down.
The politics were awful. As if you need reminded. And it was the first really big wave of anti trans bullshit. It was all around bathrooms. And it really pissed me off. I even addressed it in a blog with a short poem at the top to make it count. I was angry about it all. Now, of course, I'm angry and scared. It went from being none of your fucking business to none of your fucking business yet entirely my family's business. And because at the time I was unable to break out of my depressive cycle it just added to it. Not only did I feel like shit personally but it felt like the whole world was a dark place.
Looking back at it I realize I should have asked for help and gotten some professional assistance. But I thought I could manage, and I thought it would surely get better at any moment. I also hid how terrible I was feeling from everyone. I never said, hey look, I would rather just sit in a dark room by myself and try not to think about anything at all. I put on that pretend EVERYTHING IS FINE face and soldiered on. I was the only one who knew and the only really strong outward sign was my writing. Or lack of writing as it were.
Except for April. Where I was able to write every day.
Poetry.
It was a good place to put all of those messy extra feelings.
So now to try and figure out if I can tap that swirl of emotions when I am actually fine.
Or it will be a month of Haiku, and that would be okay too.
