JOURNAL: Strength, Optimism, and Spoken Poetry

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NOTE TO helice93: Don't bother reading this; I basically ranted to you in my last mail anyway <3

It feels strange updating my journal so soon after the last, particularly as I don't really have much to say, but Im feeling happy and motivated and thought that reason enough. I still haven't got a house for next year, but I'm able to separate that stress from my day-to-day life which is helping me to stay positive. I had a bit of an emotional breakdown late last week, by which I mean that I cried for about three hours, spent far too much of my phone bill crying on the phone to my mum, and became completely irrational, considering both transferring universities to live at home, and dropping out alltogether. That's how greatly this whole situation has been affecting me. I think I needed that in a strange way though. I've reminded myself why I'm here and how much I've worked to get here. I've wanted to go to University for as long as I can remember, so to be here at one of the top institutions in the country, having found (or recognised) a subject that I love... well, I've remembered how damn lucky I am to be in my position. I'm going to make the most of it from now on.

I think I'm discovering a real love for poetry, which is something I don't think I really ever had before. The more I learn about poetry as an art form, the more I want to know and understand. It's such a complex and varied art, and to really understand it and get beneath the surface you have to learn a whole new language, which I love. This module I'm doing this term on the Poem is opening my eyes to so much I simply didn't see before, and it excites me that I still have so much left to learn. I never want to stop learning.

This enthusiasm has been partly fuelled by a wonderful poet I recently discovered when looking back through the guidelines and blogs for theWrittenRevolution. Her name is Sarah Kay, and she's a spoken word poet with so much to say for herself. She sees the world in a truly beautiful way, the way I'd like to see the world, and perhaps she's helping me to see the world more positively. Many of you know her already, I've no doubt, but I'm going to share anyway; for those who don't know her work, and for those who do but maybe haven't visited it in a while.



Features

:thumb283403939: Kirjavin lyhdyin by emu-strutsi Pear 1 by lawrencejdavisart

Infinity Lake by Markus43 Green life by Iulia-Oprinesc
Too Sweet by masterloli:thumb283473958:


Grandmother Spider Bears the Weight of the SunDecember.
The solstice smells of wet soil.
A rising sea of dusk washes over her,
pressing on her mind
like her fingers press the lump of clay in her palm.
Grandmother keeps her hands busy,
forces nervous tremors into the small vessel
emerging like a snake
from the earth.
A bundle of flowers had held the sweat of her hands.
The trip to the hospital bore the scent of old leather,
worn bus seats
and lilies too long without water.
He'd been badly burned, they said.
His fingertips were flame-marked,
smooth and new-pink
when they came to change his bandages.
Grandmother flexes her parchment fingers.
Clay rims her wrinkled knuckles,
turns her hands to dusty grey spiders.
She clings to her secrets so tightly
her hands start to burn.
Her feet take her across the road from the bus stop.
In the Oklahoma fields, the long grass breaks against her legs,
the winds drag a tide toward her.
No moon rises tonight.
Grandmother lifts her eyes from the little clay pot in her hands,
eyes the stars
and the st
the opposite of a love letterSometimes, I think you forgot me.
To admit it, most days I've forgotten you, too. But sometimes a moment comes along that feels like you in my bones, and suddenly you're crashing through my veins, riding my pulse straight to my heart. And you sit in my chest, heavy and unwelcome, and it's hard to breathe because I cannot shut off the reel of memories playing in my head. So I close my eyes and count to ten, breathe evenly and steadily, tell myself that you are miles and years away. But I wake up the next morning with a dry taste in my mouth and a hollowness somewhere in the pit of my stomach and you're hanging onto me like a shadow even though it's already high noon.
You are a seasonal affliction. During the winter you are buried with the sunlight, but the moment the heat rises and the days lengthen, I can feel you. Last Tuesdays I drove for no reason with the windows down, the scent of fresh rain on hot pavement and shaved grass slapping my face, and it smelled like the curve of your c




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3wyl's avatar
Awesome! :highfive:

Crying helps sometimes. :nod:

I am glad you are ok now? :hug:

Poetry is amazing... pretty under-appreciated? Well, good poetry, anyway. >.>