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On Becoming a Poet

written by: Christine E. Ray

@Christabelle666

 

Sometimes, adopting the names ‘writer’ and ‘poet’

led her to encounters with the most amazing minds

connecting her with a larger community

At other times she thought that ‘writer’ and ‘poet’

were the loneliest names she had ever called herself

Waking up every morning

to unzip her chest, her gut

and bare her truths to the world

because like others of her kind

she was complex, messy, containing

multiple truths, not a singular one

 

Sometimes she felt like she was writing

to a small group of intimate friends

at others times,

she felt like she was calling out her truths

into an empty desert landscape

without even a coyote or armadillo

to hear her words before they fell away

forlorn and unread

unheard and unacknowledged

rendering the writer, the poet herself

invisible, diminished somehow

 

She was always struck by the juxtaposition

of her physical body negotiating

close suburbs,

crowded subways and jostling city sidewalks

on the way to her day job

while her heart and mind

wandered in the isolated wilderness

while errant words and wisps of dreams

and drops of feelings like rich, red blood

continued to seep out of her

 

© 2016 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

Christine E. Ray

Christine E. Ray

I am rediscovering myself in my early 50s after being defined primarily by my many roles including wife, mother and employee for the last 19 years. By day, I am the associate director of a neurodegenerative disease research center at a major university. By night and weekends, I am an aspiring badass, writer, artist, and social justice warrior.

I refuse to be invisible. I honor my voice. I write because I have to.
Christine E. Ray

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