Today’s theme is “why writing matters to you.” Nearly everyone reading this post is a blogger. And, by definition, bloggers write posts that they share with others. Why do you do it? What do you like to write? What kinds of things do you write about? Fiction? Poetry? Current events? Personal stuff? Share a story, a poem, a photo, a drawing, some music, or whatever you wish to share about why writing matters to you.
Writing helped/ helps me process life. I tend to rely on my love of poetry for unbearable pain, it’s been my crutch and it’s cathartic for me.
“We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.”―
When I received the face time call from the doctor with the results of the biopsy back in May, I turned to my blog to keep my sanity. Writing does that for me. Sometimes, we just can’t bottle up anymore personal stuff without losing it. I chose a song of the day to help others judge understand where my head was at. Like the song by Simon and Garfunkel writing helps me with the darkness. Words like raindrops need to fall .
PS. I’m still waiting for the last biopsies to come back. They’ve already scheduled my next endoscopic procedure so at least I’m on the calendar. Hopefully, covid won’t mess with the appointment.
Shattered dreams, broken promises,
furious screams, hands over my ears… no more!
What to believe, trembling chin.
Something’s up his sleeve, I’m sure of it.
Wet, dull eyes, I grab the flimsy tissues.
Stop, don’t pacify… I twist my ring.
I study his empty stare, his relaxed posture.
He doesn’t care…he’s bored.
Shattered dreams, more broken promises
fatal blow to my self-esteem, I shrug, sigh
then rub my forearms. my stance rigid.
In-explicitly filled with alarms …his long exhale.
Life was directionless, nothing will be the same.
How did we get in this mess? My fragile voice quivers…
I pull my hair across my face …my eyes can’t look
Leave, I need space. His smile and nod said it all.
When I was struggling with a disastrous first marriage, poetry kept me sane. The poem above is one from that time. Some I have published, some I have ripped to shreds because the memories are just to painful. But what still holds true for me when I am really struggling writing poetry eases the pain that even blogging can’t touch.
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”