I haven’t written poetry for a long time. While that may not seem like a good thing, my bouts of poetry writing would only occur when things in my life had taken a turn for the worst.

Poetry was my release. It was the light at the end of a dark and winding tunnel. I can’t remember when I first started regularly writing poetry. I think it may have been just after my father had passed away. The pain I felt seemed to engulf every essence of my being until all that remained was a twisted, empty shell. It was bad. I don’t know what would or could have happened if I wasn’t able to write. I feel blessed that I have a way of getting through the pain. Some people don’t have anything or anyone to turn to and I feel bad for them.

I think some of my best poetry is written from a dark place. But now that I feel a lot happier as a person, I can’t seem to channel the right energy to write. It’s as if the pain has an energy all of its own. I wrote my very first piece today. It came from a much lighter, happier place. It’s okay, I guess. I’m just happy to be a poet once more. I think of it as one of the greatest gifts I could ever give myself.