Ever since I held my pain,
Twisting it to poetry,
I have never been the same…
Expressive arts therapy,
“Sorry, that doesn’t sound real.”
Writing poetry about illness,
A silliness with nothing to lose.
It had a vice grip on my brain,
Stomping everything underneath.
It didn’t only banish my sexuality,
It took emotions of all varieties.
It took happy memories,
Distorted past distinction.
I didn’t know how to react to it,
I was too broken already.
I could not fight,
I never could.
My first expressive arts poem:
Poured out of my soul,
As tears down my face.
Nothing could be hidden,
Even if I wanted it so.
Written during mania,
Rawest forms of torture.
Who are any of us without pain?
What is life without suffering?
Some benign experience,
Living with this part of myself,
I used to push it all away.
Now I jot it all down,
Without judgement attached.
Writing releases it from my mind,
Allowing it’s own autonomy.
Buddhism teaches to recognize pain,
Look at the “worst” parts of yourself.
You should look,
But don’t stare.
Author’s Note: It’s my 1-year (plus 1 week) anniversary of writing poetry 🙂
Brittan began writing poetry in June 2020. She uses poetry as a therapeutic exercise when revisiting homophobic traumatic memories and describing life with BPD & Bipolar 2. She uses poetry as a medium for self-expression when discussing Buddhism, lesbianism, and platonic love.