What happens when we are no longer our wounds?
A lifetime of subconsciously
leading from a gaping place, seeking a filler for that hole. I spent years,
decades, with an ache so cavernous I felt fated to a life of underlying
despair. I wrote this piece the other day, realizing I do not live, breathe,
nor breed that wound anymore. I have worked it to the marrow. I can still
access it. Using it for the sharing inside of poetry and prose, but it no
longer leads me. Instead, I lead it where I want
it to go. A sigh of relief beats inside the heart of this poem to have wrestled
that baby to the ground, planted it, and grew a lotus flower out of the thick,
muddy waters in which I grew from.
I am not that Wound Anymore
by Leslie Caplan
I haven't felt this way
for a long time
This 'landed'
in my pelvic floor
This rooted inside
a place that can't be shaken
I am not wrapped inside
or leaking from
my birthwound
anymore
for a long time
This 'landed'
in my pelvic floor
This rooted inside
a place that can't be shaken
I am not wrapped inside
or leaking from
my birthwound
anymore
That gnawing underlying current
of fated despair
I felt for so long
Decades of oceanic grief
anchoring me
to the heart of my bruises
pummeled black and blue
of fated despair
I felt for so long
Decades of oceanic grief
anchoring me
to the heart of my bruises
pummeled black and blue
I am not a wound
No longer quaked with
a sorrow so deep
my wings clipped to a tatter
I could only get half way up
to the cloud before
my feathers shredded and shed me
heavy on the ground
a sorrow so deep
my wings clipped to a tatter
I could only get half way up
to the cloud before
my feathers shredded and shed me
heavy on the ground
I'm so not there
anymore.
anymore.
Let's just stop and take that
in.
The monumental magnitude of
what it is to come out thriving
and full grown wise
against all odds
what it is to come out thriving
and full grown wise
against all odds
I haven't felt this way
in a long time
in a long time
If ever.
Not quite like this
Accomplished in the artistry
of being human
Coming from where I've been
I am not
blackened blue
anymore
from the hammering
of my birthwound
of being human
Coming from where I've been
I am not
blackened blue
anymore
from the hammering
of my birthwound
Decades upon decades turning
shit into fertilizer
Tilling soil with bare hands blistered
Inner tears raining inside
my whole life
A slow steady downpour of melancholy
sometimes torrential
Tilling soil with bare hands blistered
Inner tears raining inside
my whole life
A slow steady downpour of melancholy
sometimes torrential
I
am not raining like that anymore
Leslie Caplan is a fiercely courageous heart who found her way whole through the alchemy of writing. She is a powerful advocate for writers and uses her skills to guide writers deeper into their stories. A professional editor, writing coach and internationally published writer, Leslie brings it to real with an unwavering passion for authenticity, clarity and fluidity. She lives in the small town of Ashland, Oregon and you can connect with her on her website here.
~If you are interested in seeing your poetry appear in this blog, or submitting a poem by a woman that has inspired you, please click here for submission guidelines. I greatly look forward to hearing from you!~
Comments
Post a Comment