erasing feelings



Words have been erased. I write so much, but then I throw them away because I feel thrown away. I don't want all the pain of today to stick. I want to write but not be reminded of how I have felt. Having a space to write and be reminded here has taught me that I am most certainly reminded. I have laced each poem and memoir bite with a pretty poison to either hurt or delight. I have a stack of journals from over the years that hold pain and tears and happy times intermingled. I have sheets and sheets of email letters. I know about being reminded by what I choose to write—and keep. 

Maybe if I could write my words in the wet sand at the beach, carving out my heart, then letting the tide wash it all away. Maybe that would work. Maybe. But I don't live near the ocean, and I can't get there soon enough to try this experiment while I need release. I'd love to set my heart on a month-long sabbatical to the seaside, but that's an option for people who aren't me. So I must be contented with writing letters that go in the garbage and writing poems that hide until I feel brave enough to cut my heart out with my own words. I must be content with erasure. 




3 comments:

  1. I love the last line of of your writing: "I must be content with erasure." That just cuts right to the heart of so much of what we who can't take sabbatical have to contend with. Sometimes, we just need to write, purge, and move on, move forward, and move away. Thank you for sharing this heart-felt slice with us today.

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  2. "I want to write but not be reminded of how I have felt" made me think of the therapy of writing; the being able to lose oneself in the act of expressing feelings and thoughts through the act of writing and the catharctic nature of writing. You have your release and one day you will find the courage you seek too. Thank you for sharing.

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  3. This is a cutting piece, a piece fully understood by the reader. Your lead and ending and final, speak volumes.

    Sometimes following the breath brings more calm and clarity than writing, and often without the searing pain...

    Best wishes.
    Maribeth

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