Poetry’s Light

It was a strange year for me; the saddest I’ve seen thus far. A darkness overcast my soul like a solar eclipse, yet birthed in me a peculiar drive to never quit; despite how badly I wanted to. The year began with the death of my nephew preceded by the miscarriage of my unborn child in a freak accident, deepening the sadness that threatened to throw my body and soul into a matrix of torture. Hell on earth could only begin to describe my level of torment. “Nobody understands my suffering,” I told myself. “Nobody can understand my pain.”

As the year two thousand eleven continued so did my suffering. I had nowhere to turn, nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide. I could not hide my face from it, but had to face reality head on. Scared of reaching out for help, I began writing down my thoughts, emotions and story onto pages of lined paper. I read them aloud, tearing them up in my agony. “Even poetry will betray me,” I accused. Yet I could not escape it. I needed to release my pain lest it tear my heart out of my chest! Tears flowed with passion as the curtains of transparency were opened and the light of poetry shone into my soul. It became like a therapist to me, helping me find some sense of sanity. I was unaware at the time that the direction of my story was about to change course, launching me onto a new path of self expression that will alter my life forever.

In my excitement, I took my binder to my cousin’s house to share my newfound passion with them. As I read my work to my family they were moved with tears, holding none back.

“It’s like you wrote a story about me,” Ray responded.

“I relate,” Mike agreed.

“You have to publish your work so that others know they are not alone,” encouraged Ray.

I was not as eager as they were to publish my story for the world to view, but was not opposed to the idea of the possible impact that I could make in the lives of many. I was conflicted, because I was not writing for publicity, but for my survival. It’s something that was birthed in me through the struggles of life that I was still processing and fighting through. It’s not something I wanted, but needed to do.

Only toward the end of the year did I truly consider their advice when Mom sent me an advertisement for a self-publisher in my email. “Just give them a call and hear what they have to say,” she persuaded. I called them that day and accepted the publishing offer they proposed. “I just want a copy of my poetry in one place,” I told myself. I was young and naive, not understanding the depth of the opportunity before me. I took my book ‘Darkness Before the Dawn’ everywhere, sharing it with everyone I met. Realizing that they were not alone in the world, friends and strangers alike approached me often sharing how my poetic story impacted their lives in such a tangible way they felt as though they were written into my book. Knowing that I made an impact in someone else’s life for the better made me feel as though everything I’ve endured was worth going through a second time. My fans encouraged me to continue writing, to express myself in fresh ways, in new styles, having impacted my life as much as I left an impact on theirs. “It’s worth it for one,” I said. “Even if one person is touched by my story then it was all worth it.”

My life has changed course multiple times, but poetry never left, nor betrayed me. She was closer to me than my closest friend, using the circumstances of life to continually push me closer to my readers. They love me, because they are me. Together, we are never alone. Poetry is only an outlet, but they are the audience for which my life is displayed. They find themselves in my story, walking with me side by side in every line, getting lost within the diary of my heart. No longer do I write to keep my work hidden, but to invite both friend and stranger to sit with me as we grieve the sorrows of life together, comforting one another along the way.

Ideally, I will continue to express myself through poetry and spoken word until I draw my last breath. Desiring to keep the cost of my work cheap for the poverty stricken readers, I am finding innovative and creative ways to share my heart with the broken hearted; for our hearts beat as one. Every one of us has a story to tell. It’s my hope that one day I will be in a position to help other creatives express themselves through their own expression of art, teaching them how to steward, sharpen and grow their gift and make use of it; to encourage others to achieve their dreams. At the end of the day it’s not about poetry, but is about finding our voice of expression and directing that voice toward the mountains of difficulty that stand in our way. With one voice and one heart we can scale that mountain and travel across!