The more I write, and possibly because my current WIP is so near to my heart, the more I realize that all the little (and not so little) hurts that I've "healed" from over the years aren't as gone as I believed. Writing through the hard parts is a little like letting the poison slowly be sucked from the marrow of these wounds. Perhaps finally taking on the challenge of writing this old-new story will mean some real healing can take place. It's an interesting revelation how intertwined the two are.
After reading Sara Lewis Holmes' unbelievably fun and witty poem, Credo, several of us tried out our own.
Here's my quickwrite response to an "I don't believe..." poem:
I don’t believe that kids should grow up,
unless I’m being honest,
and then I know they must, and they should,
and my heart beats a little faster and my
breath sort of stops in my throat
when I see these little grown ups
walk out the door and into their future.
I don’t believe in negative thoughts,
in fact, I don’t believe in them so much
that I watch them wink out of existence,
one. by. one.
But sometimes, in the darkest dark of night,
I worry those vanishing thoughts
are still alive somewhere,
and just might come back to haunt me.
I don’t believe in just one right way,
one black or white answer, a perfect solution
to save the day.
There are too many colors to paint, too many
notes to be sung, too many wondrous words
to settle on just one.
And I don’t believe in sitting still;
I’m a river, not a pond.
And life, well –
life is too twisty-turny,
filled with grown-up little kids, and
secret thoughts that wake your heart from sleeping,
there are all those words waiting to be written.
Sitting still just won’t do.