I don't remember exactly how I found poetry. The beginning of my writing journey was filled with unfinished stories and thoughts I couldn't get ahold of. Even when I finally began to catch them, I still managed to convince myself that I couldn't write poetry. I still tell myself that by the way. But I found solace in freewrite. I can explore as much as I want, no styles or restrictions required.

Poetry. One word yet very powerful. It's a little funny how we pen down feelings both light and dark everyday and we give them a name. We categorise them as a poem yet we don't think about how therapeutic that one word is.

I found poetry during the darkest phase of my life. The time I believed I had nothing left to live for. The first poem I wrote scared someone I considered a friend. I posted it online. He called and refused to get off the phone till he was sure I was alright. I won't bore you with the details.

This here is one of my earliest poems. I don't remember when I wrote it or what I was thinking about.


Grief. This, I always run away from. When you lose one too many loved ones, you tend to stay away. But one thing I've learned is that you can't really run away from it. You just have to face it or the healing will never come. I'm this person whose feelings are always on the surface, but I can mask it so well that the person next to me won't notice a thing. I'm that good. It's a blessing and also a curse.

For a year, I struggled with pain, both mine and my Mamas. I watched her suffer and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I buried and swallowed till I couldn't anymore. It's a miracle I'm walking around today, sane and all. Maybe the diary series I started when I couldn't keep things in again did the trick. Everyday, I would write down what I felt. When I watched life leave her body,when I kept touching her till she turned completely cold, there was nothing left to feel.



I like to think that I've gotten to a place where I can share a part of my grief. That's probably why I'm writing this. There're still days I wake too tired. I like to blame it on work and things. The spontaneous tears still happen. I'm yet to get to that part where the happy memories are all that's left. For a long time I blamed myself. If I had done or said things differently, she might still be here. Maybe I still do. I have a lot to say, but I still struggle to find the words.

One day, I'll tell you all about it. Love too. For now, one more poetry.


©chinyerevivian

#eyeonsparrow

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