When I taught First Grade, I learned about the powerful nature of poetry. For emergent and often reluctant writers, poetry’s condensed nature and freedom from structure makes writing accessible. Poetry eliminates the intimidation of writing. The opportunity to simply play with words allows little writers to discover the beauty of language and more importantly, their voice.

I took a blogging break, I’ve said, because my new business endeavor, meta44, took up all my time and creative energy. But actually, that’s not the whole truth. In fact, I am beginning to believe that creativity begets creativity. The truth is I lost my confidence after reading a friend's published essay last summer. She’s a real writer, the voice in my head said, and who did I think I was writing for anyone but myself?

But then, I thought again. It’s the collective force of the world's creative output that makes life worth living. Self-expression feels like a path to self-discovery: curating objects for meta44, expressing opinions, posting on social media, even my clothes. And I find it's much harder to judge others when I feel vulnerable, which is the byproduct of putting yourself out there. Perhaps this is what happens in your 40s, you start to care more about finding out who you really are and less about what other people think. So whatever you have to offer, please do, offer it up to the world.

It’s no wonder then, after falling asleep last night with the horrible dread you feel when you know your book is coming to an end, that I woke up to rediscover my confidence and writing voice with poetry.

Oh Paperback Novel

Oh paperback novel
On the shelf
Eyeing me
How long have you been there
Stagnating
I pick you up
Turn you over, eye your first words

Stacked beside my bed
Get in line
I fan your rattling pages
Weigh your thickness

At first it’s
Slow, I’m unsure
Can’t decide should I carry on
Who’s who
We go on like this for days
And then

You spit sentences like venom
They run through my veins
I devour your pages
In waiting rooms, on planes
Speeding, skipping,
Turning, turning, turning
Can't put you down

Oh no
Wait
Savoring syllables
I lay you on my chest eyes closed
In another world

Outside my window
Magnolias are blooming
There you go
Back up on the shelf