Poetry Is A Mother

Have you ever seen a baby? 

Have you seen the way it's newborn skin scrunches up at a funny smell?

The child's immediate reaction is to make a fuss.

It needs it's mother to hush it back to sweeter smells, sweeter times.

The mother restores the child's ambient glow of innocence and peace just by rocking it back and forth. 

That simplictic motion is so small but powerful enough to quiet a baby.

That's what poetry does for me.

Poetry sees me in my crib 

She sees me scared and afraid.

She sees me growing up.

Growing more scared and afraid. 

Tears that wet my fingertips 

Hands that are only used to hold myself in bed

when the night reminds me that I came into this world alone and will leave alone.

Poetry can see right through me and say "You need to do this to feel better"

Poetry guides me though mental obstacles 

Through the first days of school, the first loves, and first let-downs that life throws at me

Poetry remains a nuturing beacon who shines light on my dark, weary soul

Poetry gave birth to me. All I have learned and understood has came from her and I couldn't thank her enough for all she does.


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