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Musings

Truth in Youthful Words

I posted recently about it being National Poetry Month, so I decided I should dig up some poems and writings from my past and share them here.In going through some of my journals and scribbling of words on paper from high school through now, I’ve noticed a some things:

  • I used to write a LOT more in high school, college, and even for a short while into post-college life.
  • My internal life was incredibly dramatic and full of tension. At least I thought it was.
  • I expressed that internal drama often through poems, or at least what I was calling poems, in ways that were more honest than I would be now.
  • It’s really interesting to see where I’ve come from; and more specifically, what’s different about me. (And if I’m being really honest with myself, what’s not different.)

There’s something about how we speak and write when we’re younger than tends to be so raw and full of energy and emotion. It’s as though our entire lives depended on every word we said, wrote, heard. Our feelings knew little of the “in-between” and only existed at the edges. What happened to that? We get older, wiser, more subdued, more cautious. Ultimately, these things are good for us. I would fear living that way now. But there’s something about us being real with ourselves that should never go away. Write with reckless abandon. Get thoughts down on paper and work out what’s in your mind and heart. One of the worst things you can do is bottle stuff in. I did on and off for many years and when I was holding back, I was more unhealthy.

What’s the point of this post? I’m not quite sure. Maybe just that we should be more free with our words and express those thoughts more frequently and openly, like when we were younger. Also look for a couple more poems to be posted here in the coming days!

Categories
Poems

November 5, 1999

to walk into a room and know it fully
yet himself to remain unnoticed
walking through gathering information
of the deeper intimate things
with no or little questioning into the questioner
his desires to speak but not knowing the words
he stands quiet about his heart’s condition
holding all his emotions along with
the stories told to him in his lifetime that demanded
his attention and compassion
only to understand the receiving end
of love that doesn’t ask for anything back
that is content in giving freely without complaint
to find a way to remove the emptiness that fills me
this apparent lack of connection with anything or anyone
longing to be reached out to before reaching out first
knowing how it is to be a child in a parent’s arms again

11/5/1999