So, the month of April is National Poetry Month, and I have been doing my duty of creating new poems to celebrate my chosen creative style of writing. In total, I have composed 32 poems in this month alone. For some reason, I just have been inspired to write new poetry. I even began the revisions for my book of poetry titled “Words of My Heart”, which I plan to re-release this year. I have written poems spanning many different subjects and genres. I’m looking forward to seeing how the revised version of my collection of poetry will turn out. I also have the awesome idea of producing the finished poetry collection as an audio book. Whether I will read the poetry myself, I’m not sure yet, but I would love to hear how my own words sound spoken aloud.

Well, to celebrate the ending of National Poetry Month, I want to share a poem I wrote a few years ago. In this poem, I compare writing to therapy, because for me, that is how I see writing. It is a way for me to express my deepest feelings. When I write, it brings me peace. No matter what I’m going through, once I put my thoughts to paper, everything seems like it will work itself out.

Therapeutic

My pen dashes across the page.
Writing what I can’t say aloud.
My worries.
My troubles.
The tears trickle down my face.
As I continue to write.
Everything I’m feeling.
Scribbled onto these once blank pages.
So much to say.
But I don’t have the voice to say them.
So I write.
I write to ease the pain.
A single tear drops.
And smudges my ink.
But I write on.
Pouring my all into these words.
No time to stop now.
I have to get them out.
My heart races with the speed of my hand.
Making sure not to forget a single word.
It’s like magic.
These words that I write.
Every word expertly placed.
Exactly where they’re supposed to be.
No mistakes.
They’re perfect just the way they are.
My hand begins to cramp.
But I won’t stop.
This is what I need.
So I must go on.
This is the only way.
Nothing else will do.
Music could probably do the trick.
But this is my way.
My special remedy.
To rid myself of my internal pain.
I don’t have to think too hard.
My pen does what it’s good at.
Getting everything down just right.
The way I want it to be.
Pages flip.
And I continue to write.
There is so much I have to say.
And there are plenty of lines to fill.
Hours upon hours.
Day into night.
And I continue to write.
My hearts way of healing.
No psychiatrists.
Or counselors will do.
Just me and my trusty pen.
Will get the job done.
The more I write.
The lighter my heart feels.
This is exactly what I need.
A way to cope with the pain.
Writing is my therapy.
And it suits me just fine.
There is no cost for these sessions.
And my feelings are my own.
I understand what I’m feeling.
And I know the cure.
From my heart to these blank pages.
My pain is no more.

What is thereputic for you? Leave me your thoughts below.

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