So take a pen to your grief.
Every word you write pours salve and healing on your wounds, whether fresh or distant.
There’s little you can do regarding the trials we endure.
Dissect them word by word, letter by letter. Be honest with yourself.
List your mistakes; chronicle your regrets.
Rage and scream and cry.
Bleed your pain on paper.
Use your pen to strip away all artifice. Be transparent with your anger, and brutal with your faults.
Let the bitterness explode onto paper, even if it is for your eyes only.
Then, you might just see the tiniest flicker of healing.
Not a fire, you understand, but a modest flame.
When the fire catches in earnest, it will burn away the anger and sadness one twig at a time, until the weight of grief transforms to mere ashes.
The ashes will always be a part of you, leaving an indelible tattoo of grief seared across your heart.
Most will not notice, but those who love you will see.
Ashes are so much easier to bear than the wildfire you survived.
You extinguished it with your very fingertips.
2 thoughts on “On Grief and Writing”
Strange thing is that I’ve been reading poetry with negative themes and tones lately, and I’ve written responses that were negative in return.. it disturbs me a little that my writing has plenty of power when it’s based on personal feelings, but it’s cathartic at the same time.
I’ve found that to be true as well. Writing must come from emotion or else it falls flat.
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