poetry notebook (writing poems is magical & helps me understand myself)

Poetry is an outlet that I run to spontaneously. I always want to write poems, but sometimes I sit down to write, and I feel like all that I can do is write a rambling stream of consciousness that is never really something I want to share with the world. So writing is often just an exercise for me to practice getting my thoughts out of my head in a way that is actually understandable for others. Which is good! Because while it may feel cringe-y to me reading through my jumbled thoughts weeks later, those are also moments in time that I can step back into and remember much more vividly, and I learn new things about the way I think about the world and how that has changed over time. 

I started this poem a few weeks ago, and I found it in my notes the other day and just felt compelled to revisit it and keep playing with the words. This poem is about how important writing is to me and how I view it as a really magical tool for understanding myself and expressing my hopes and dreams and just being creative. 

Poetry is realizations and
contradictions and

				hesitations —

destinations and contemplation and
jubilation!


A word slip-
ping from tip 
of tongue to 
fingertip 

Sometimes escaping through 
vanilla chapstick lips

I’m escaping,
too

Scrambling 
		after 
			stories 

latching onto letters and lines
Every phrase, 
every poignant piece of poetry that touches me and 

Stops.

I’m here,

Clinging to a comma, 
Clutching at the curve, and 

I’m losing my grip; I
Flip over the page 
				and into another

Cascading, characteristically quiet
And consumed by a carefully crafted quest for creativity

And I’m here

Escaping?
Realizing
All that’s ever been is here too
There’s still room for you amidst the past and the new

Fill in the lines 
And run back to

Your favorite
notebook of
poetry
It’s waiting
To reveal
An entire
			Universe

And just to remind you of the vastness and the meaning
In between these pages that you clutch
There’s more to life than words but still we say so much 
And you’ll have this book of dreams to forever read, so lucky!
This poem is just a way to keep remembering
You are holding on to words that mean everything