I used to write a lot of poetry

I also have a history of depression – for me, poetry and severe depression go hand in hand. I usually need emotional torment to make poetry flow out of me.

I have been above the risky waters of depression for about 4 years – even though child birth and death have since happened in my life, I seem to be doing great. I’ll take it.
There were times I wrote happy thoughts and poems – more often towards the end of my poetry journals there are happy streams of words. Here is some of what I used to write.
‘Pretty Life’
A happy day with carousels
all around –
images and painted frowns
a log cabin where we meet
in my dreams and
eat cream and talk
of the whispers we’ve
pretty life.
If this is love I’m falling for it
but yet I’m scared and even hurt
that you’re not.
Your eyes speak years ahead of
what you think and you
hands speak of strong emotions
Hold me tight
Kiss me good night
Hug me forever
tell me –
the air stood
the smoke
from the
hung in
the blackness
all alone
this gray
form of
hanging in
this blackness
I couldn’t grasp
this idea.
only the beauty.
the beauty in
the eeriness
of forgetfulness.
Just the beauty
of Fear.
Some of what I wrote is still over my head, not like – oh I was so good, more like – I have no idea what I was talking about or writing. But hey. It meant something to me when I wrote it.
For a time I tried to write a poem a day – it could have been 2 lines or four pages, just as long as I was writing – and that’s some of my favorite poetry … maybe I’ll try it again.

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