I love poetry.

I love how the words can jump out and grab me by the throat and demand me to feel their intensity. That their creators felt something so alive and violent inside them to produce a life, how they can link wonderful connections between stars and galaxies and bones and marrows and waves and sand and it’s all so beautiful. How a short description of a simple action can conjure powerful image and its connotative meanings, and a sign of intelligence to be able to read between the lines. But I guess to feel everything so deeply can be a blessing and a curse – trying to navigate a sea emotions, constantly negotiating of the tensions between the polar extremes.

And it’s a slow realization but everyone is a poet. And I don’t mean lovely phrases that rhyme or the use of pretty words. Not all poems are created equally, but we have to try. It is a way of life, and we must learn to express ourselves in language and words. Is it not true, by confronting our inner thoughts can we learn more about ourselves? I always think that by knowing how we feel, we can then demand the way we deserve to be treated.

I’m going to try. I’m going to sound stupid I know but I’m going to try and verbalize feelings into words anyway.

On a superficial level, I feel like getting a typewriter hehe. Yay to pretty font forever!


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