I’ve been reflecting on how I dampen my own creative spark - how I inflict the same wounds that were inflicted on me when I expressed myself growing up. Whether through criticism, perfectionism, shame, or invalidation, I’m blocking my life force and hurting my spirit. It adds up. It sits in my heart and strangles my joy. Even when I’m telling others how important it is to support their creativity, and KNOWING IT, later, I still turn around and disrespect my own. WHAT THE FUCK?! This poem is an exploration of that heartbreak, and more importantly, a vow to meet myself differently.
Tender seed
bursting forth.
My heart
asking timidly
for permission to fly.
So many times
I’ve taken a hammer
and smashed you to pieces
before someone else could.
Bravely, you healed,
and waited,
beating quietly
behind the door.
Taking orders
to swallow and ignore
impulses
pulsing through you.
I can feel the bruised places
where you hid
under my skin
while I shouted,
No.
Not here,
not now,
not like that.
You don’t belong.
But that’s my shame, not yours.
Acting on ancient orders
willed down through DNA.
Be small.
Shut up.
Obey.
I don’t want that anymore.
I want your raging river.
I want you spilling out over the banks,
slamming against rocks,
splashing and playing
with every creature that calls you home.
I love you deep.
I love you shallow.
I love you still, sorrowful, quiet.
I love you strong, willful, thundering.
Whatever
is the truth.
Thank you
for staying alive.
Now is your time.
I will be your biggest fan,
instead of head of the committee
of reasons why not.
I will put you on my shoulders
instead of standing on your grave.
I will use my legs and hands
to bring us closer.
I will use my tongue and skin
to taste warmth.
I serve your army of love.
A soldier of delight,
marching toward wholeness,
jumping with joy,
dancing like a dolphin in your veins,
smiling at you, belly up,
from the inside.
You’re the leader now,
not a pet I let out
once a day to take a shit.
Take your place as Lion,
King of the Wild.
Fiery.
Unchained.
Loud.