Poetry Is Healing

Rage as my knuckles turned white on the steering wheel

Driving in and out of the ditch after a big steal

If you are going to follow me, make sure I don’t take anything

I will show you, as I walk swiftly around the store, touching everything

Make me mad and the rage takes over. It isn’t a big deal, I squeal.

~

Glare at me, will you? You get the “If looks could kill I would be dead!”

“Is that what you want? Me dead or what TF are you looking at?”, I said.

I am too old for this shit I think as I sit and wonder how this happens.

I’m feeling sorry for myself and wondering how I got these mishappens.

In writing the other day with too much force, I broke my pencil lead.

~

It is good to write down feelings as I feel better when I’m done.

It is a win for me when I read someone's poetry, and then one

of mine, writing is healing for me. I don’t expect to need it but

I can tell when it is helping as I no longer feel the stress in my gut.

In the fourth grade, my teacher helped me with grief, and she was a nun.

~

Writing has always been a way to say what I need to say and then act

if I need to act. The fact is it takes a lot to upset me and get me out of wack!

So write along with me today and let me see what you have to say

it will often help me to relax, let go, and get out of my own way.

Move on, live in today, let bygones be bygones, and don’t go off half-cracked

~~~~

First published by Write Under the Moon