I’m getting back into writing poetry. This is my first in far more than a year I believe. Maybe that’s why it’s so much longer than mine have been in the past. I’ve remembered the power it once had to help me understand & cope & make sense of things & how I feel about them. I wrote this poem this morning - the emotions were strong this morning - thank goodness for three therapy appointments this week even though that sounds daunting & ridiculous & exhausting to me right now. I did the first draft of this poem on my computer, printing it again & again & editing it with grey black pen until I was out of printer paper. Then, when it felt finished enough (poems never feel entirely finished), I recorded this video of myself reading it, tripping over my words a bit, nervous to be in front of a filming camera, even my own. I’ve included the text of the poem here because poems are different things when they are heard than when they are read. I feel much more at peace now that I’ve written this & shared it. I need to remember this about myself: creating brings me back to myself, whether I am proud of what I make or not it is the closest thing to meaning & purpose I have right now. I must create everyday. Edward has his career &, right now at least, this is mine.