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
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