Dig It!

Poetry is a blade.
We write about love and hate,
But mostly it’s fear that bleeds onto the page.

Dig in Deep.
If it doesn’t strike a vein, it doesn’t count.
Talk about your first love, and
how you were stood up at the ice cream parlor.
Write about the rain pattering against broken windows
as your parents screamed on the top of their lungs.
Tell stories that are half-truths about things you lost,
then found, only to lose again.

Dig it Deeper.
If it doesn’t leave a scar, it doesn’t count.
Tell stories about the mother who never loved you,
the bottle you used to compensate for the lack.
Write about the disease that made you sick
and the cure that almost killed you.
Talk about Cancer –
how it knocked over everyone you’ve loved like dominos,
one by one in quick succession,
and you’re waiting at the end of the line for your turn to fall.

Is that Deep enough Yet?
If it doesn’t cripple you, it doesn’t count.
Talk about the empty spaces, the unsung songs, the graves –
both the ones who’ve claimed their victims,
and the ones still lying in wait.

Write about Death.
People dig that.

Poetry is a blade.
Cut out your heart,
put it in a glass case,
and point.
Say: That! THAT is what I’m offering.
Don’t just walk by like it’s nothing.
It’s valuable.

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