I don't believe many people (other than myself) who love writing and reading poetry would admit to this, but this year, I am thankful for National Poetry Month being over.
I'm pretty sure I nearly ran out of words and feelings and inspiration. My heart needs refueling. It's just the facts. Writing sad poetry is pitiful crap if you ask me even if it drips with profundity or evokes the tears of everyone within a 1000-mile radius. The catharsis of it all proves it does something to help lift burdens and lighten moods, yet I caught myself wishing so much that I had more sunshine in my heart to write about.
That is not to say I only wrote crappy sappy please-put-me-out-of-my-misery poems all the month long—no. My everlasting hopefulness flaw (quality) made sure that I was able to grab hold of a few glints of golden sun. But wow, holy cow, did I write some sad sad bad give-me-a-tissue-or-please-knock-me-out-now poetry. Going through the month's writings to prepare the Reader's Choice top ten, I read most of them again. Just wow. What the heck.
There were a few days when I cried as I wrote; other days, I prayed as I wrote; and even still, there were many days when my heart was just barely there in it all because of the lack of rest and physical and emotional touch that I need.
I could rag on and on, I think. I could probably even write an epic poem on how badly I am tired of kissing people I don't love and how much I want to be able to take a little rest from my worries. I am off kilter with wanting for affection and rest. I don't know what to do except keep going out and dating, but it's all such a wreck of a situation. So for now, I'll keep praying that this heart of mine will be sustained, and I'll find more words before next year rolls around.
Some of those poems I'm complaining about: Poetry Month 2016