The stranger in the mirror...

I haven’t felt free to blog in the longest time.  This entire past year has been the worst in so many ways for my family, and I am not truly able to be unrestricted with the content that it all includes.  Since I am so open and vulnerable in my writings I have been afraid to write as I might divulge too much information to the public.  I am not good at being censored, and in the attempt at being discerning I have kept any writings of mine private, minus sharing them with a very select few.

I am currently enrolled in school this semester and have the wonderful opportunity to be taking a poetry class.  I was originally very timid and uncomfortable with the idea of poetry, as I hadn’t written poetry since junior high and I was unsure I even had the capacity to be poetic any longer.  I decided to go outside my comfort zone and even though the class has only met twice I have already been enlightened and am already enjoying the outflow of poetry out of me.  Writing has always been an outlet for my thoughts and emotions and exploring the original form of my writing is exciting and special to me.    

Today in class I was literally fighting back tears as our writing exercise became so real and personal to me and the outflow of my thoughts shocked me.  After everything that has happened over this past year, I am really struggling with who I am as a mom, a wife, and a human being.  This was so evident in my poem today, and I have a feeling will be for quite some time.  The person I see in the mirror has no face, at least not one that I recognize and those thoughts were echoed in my little poem. 

The teacher passed out a sheet that had a lot of quotes from different poets and people regarding what poetry is, and several struck me. 

“Poetry is the rhythmical creation of beauty in words.” –Edgar Allan Poe

“Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted.” –Percy Bysse Shelley

“Poetry is when an emotion had found its thought and the thought has found words.” –Robert Frost

There are more, but I won’t go on.  I think of poetry as medicine for the soul, a release of energy that we are otherwise imprisoned to.  My poem came out dark and painful.  He had us write in a specific style, just filling in the blanks.  The style was “I used to be ___, but now I am ___.”  This is the poem that I became entangled with as I wrote:

I used to be perfect,

But now I am broken.

I used to be worthy,

But now I am nothing.

I used to be stronger,

But now I am timid.

I used to be pink,

But now I am dark.

I used to be sure,

But now I am sorry.

I used to be happy,

But now I am anguished.

I used to be hopeful,

But now I am doubtful.

I used to be spotlight,

But now I am shadows.

I used to be supported,

But now I am deserted.

I used to be a smile,

But now I am a tear.

I used to be me,

But now I am a stranger.

I used to be loveable,

But now I am a disappointment.

I used to be an asset,

But now I am a debt.

I used to be full,

But now I am empty.

I used to be the cause,

But now I am the effect.

I used to be repair,

But now I am destruction.

I used to be whole,

But now I am crushed.

I used to be new,

But now I am ruined.

I used to be present,

But now I am past.

I used to be able to breathe,

But now I am suffocated.

I used to be encouragement,

But now I am consequences.

I used to be a person,

But now I am a monster.

I used to be a crier,

But now I am a weeper.

I used to be life,

But now I am death.

I used to be brave,

But now I am small.

I used to be fruitful,

But now I am untrimmed weeds.