Note: In case you’re wondering why I’m suddenly pretending to be a poet, it is because this week I attended a writing intensive. Although I wrote one poem (and put it on this site) about six months ago, I otherwise have written none for well over a decade. It feels good to be writing poetry again, and this may point to the next stage in my healing. Since this site is all about my healing journey, it makes sense to put at least a few of the pieces up here. The poem posted on June 16 was heartfelt and I’m fond of it (it came out of an instruction to use an old photograph as the basis for verse.) The class assignment for the piece below instructed us to be ‘subversive.’ I think the product states my attitude toward embracing emotion in a valid though satirical fashion. On the other hand, there is a thin margin between subversive and offensive. I’m displaying this poem with the aim of providing a bit of amusement; I hope that not too many readers will decide I’ve crossed the line.

OldWell

ACCEPTING THE HEART’S HARLOTS

I make this choice:
I luxuriate with my harem of heartaches.

Why not wrap arms around Grief?
She looks so hungry and pitiful with her empty hands,
And she never leaves me.

Why not kiss the cheek of Sorrow,
And savor the brine in her bottomless well of tears?

I admit to massaging Frustration’s shoulders.
He is beefy and buff and his muscles cry out for kneading.

I embrace the ancient frame of Rage.
Yes, I hug him as he shudders in my arms.

I let Confusion nibble my fingertips as I comb out her curls
While her brother, Doubt, leans heavily against my back.

And I snuggle with Disgust,
Though he drools and mutters when he naps.

Shame and I share a mattress under the white moon.
She’s a naughty lover who hogs the bedclothes.

I admit to exploring the furrows of my wounds,
And to caressing the thighs of Fear as they tremble like two captured fawns.

Sometimes, when I stroke the eyebrows of Regret,
She points out sunflowers along my path.

So I make this choice:
I offer a bouquet to my Catastrophe.
I honor my Decay, my Fractures, and my Pettiness.

Yes, I accept my ridiculous Fate.
I accept my Bereavement and my Terror.

I won’t shun the beast of my Despair.
I will mend its lame forepaw.
I know it is the mascot of my Dissatisfaction,
But it is also the defender of my Dreams.

I make this choice.

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