(Sorry just finished writing this comment and coming back to say at the start that I’ve written another essay this morning 🙈)
Thank you for sharing this Nelly and for your honesty. It is horrifying to bear witness to what is going on and to feel useless, I keep trying to find ways to help but I do feel powerless. 💔 I wrote a short poem on it last week too, which I shared on Instagram, about the contrast between my children and the children in Gaza. It’s devastating.
On this week - I really adore the Ellen Bass poem 🥰 When you first said the prompt I actually thought of Wendy Cope’s The Orange again as my “comfort” poem, which I’d talked about last week, so then I was trying to think of another poem to share. It’s not exactly a tonic or balm, but I return to it often -
To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall
BY KIM ADDONIZIO
If you ever woke in your dress at 4am ever
closed your legs to someone you loved opened
them for someone you didn’t moved against
a pillow in the dark stood miserably on a beach
seaweed clinging to your ankles paid
good money for a bad haircut backed away
from a mirror that wanted to kill you bled
into the back seat for lack of a tampon
if you swam across a river under rain sang
using a dildo for a microphone stayed up
to watch the moon eat the sun entire
ripped out the stitches in your heart
because why not if you think nothing &
no one can / listen I love you joy is coming
***
I love this poem because it feels like it distils the experience of being a woman in the modern world — all these moments that make us human, vulnerable, messy. It has a wild and free feeling, especially with the lack of punctuation and grammar. This is stuff that I love to write about myself, the things that make you glad to be alive. What I’ve written in response doesn’t really feel like a poem but I thought I’d share it anyway! It maybe feels like a little jarring when we are talking about the horrors of genocide, but I suppose that’s the complexity of living through this time, like both things can be true? I don’t know.
I’m finding the news very hard just now, so much of it feels broken, it’s not forming into poetry for me just yet. I’d love to read some of yours one day ❤️
From the prompt on Sunday -
Maggie Smith’s poem - Good Bones-is the one that did it for me, that came along at the right time and that sparked my love of poetry outside of the GCSE anthologies ❤️ https://poets.org/poem/good-bones
I still can’t really read it without feeling emotional.
Zoe, wow. I’m not sure how to express how deeply this has affected me. It’s beautiful, and it hurt my heart, and it’s made me cry. You are such a gifted writer and a wonderful person - and mother ❤️ thank you for sharing this with us. I love good bones too, I almost shared that one this week ❤️❤️❤️
Oh Zoe, this piece is so profound. You paint the feeling of outside-ness so well. We need such a wake up in society of what it takes to be a protective parent and to honour and centre all that has been lived and is being lived.
‘bone tired
From the endless work of my life,’ 🤍
The act of sticking the paper to the wall - captures something so beautiful, wow (I welled up). Thank you so much for sharing xxx
How she writes about wanting to save the whole world and how alongside that tending to our lives, our days, our nervous systems feels so small but the power there is in this base…
I felt horribly, viscerally triggered out of the blue a week or two ago and wrote something that felt good to write but does feel a bit lacking in description….
*A poem when triggered*
May the tips of my toes know the tender but solid, sturdy ground beneath them
May my chest rise and fall in fluent, steady motion: filling, emptying, filling, softening.
May my hands know reassuring points of contact: temperature, pressure, texture, reminders of their place with me.
May interactions be soft, simple and filled with a gentle, comforting, ordinariness.
May I sense patience more readily than urgency. The urgency that was once my body striving for my safety - an army in defence of one so precious now standing down to rest.
May I know the presence of trusted ones who somehow lift some weight off my nervous system, allowing it to breathe.
May I connect with a small joy, something that I love and may that connection soothe my senses, reminding me of goodness here.
It’s sort of grown since then as I realised all of these things are soothed for me in a forest . It’s a bit long so I won’t post it here but it starts with:
🌳I go to the Forest for the Forest Holds Me
I go to the forest, for the forest holds me,
set my steps to the rhythm of the woodland floor. There’s a place for each footprint amongst raised, stedfast roots.
May the tips of my toes know the tender but solid, sturdy ground beneath them.
Bracken and birch send safety signals through their scented air.
May my chest rise and fall in fluent, steady motion: filling, emptying, filling, softening….
Oh Ange these are absolutely beautiful ❤️ your writing is always so centred and peaceful. Gorgeous! and I really like the idea that we must tend to ourselves and our lives to be able to do the other work.
Ah thank you for your lovely feedback and interest. It’s still a work in progress but here’s what I have…
🌳 I go to the Forest for the Forest Holds Me
I go to the forest, for the forest holds me,
set my steps to the rhythm of the woodland floor. There’s a place for each footprint amongst raised, stedfast roots.
May the tips of my toes know the tender but solid, sturdy ground beneath them.
Bracken and birch send safety signals through their scented air.
May my chest rise and fall in fluent, steady motion: filling, emptying, filling, softening.
A misshapen, perfect stick calls to me for collection. Scooped from the spongy, earthy carpet.
May my hands know reassuring points of contact: temperature, pressure, texture, reminders of their place with me.
I have walked this woodland path in faithful, familiar repetition. Witnessed its seasons as it has witnessed mine.
Interactions soft, simple and filled with a gentle, comforting, ordinariness.
The patience of slow, barely celebrated growth over decades surrounds me.
May I sense patience more readily than urgency. The urgency that was once my body striving for my safety - an army in defence of one so precious now standing down to rest.
Landmarks enduring, orientating. Trusted points of reference.
May I know the presence of trusted ones who somehow lift some weight off my nervous system, allowing it to breathe.
A clearing. Sunlight finds my face. Intricate shadows dance on the forest floor.
May I connect with a small joy, something that I love and may that connection soothe my senses, reminding me of goodness here.
This is gorgeous ❤️🩹 There’s a Self Esteem lyric which is “I just wanna let you know there's a point in you, And I know you find it harder than your peers do” that always resonates with me, and your poem made me think of it. Here’s to sensitive, tender hearts ❤️
I'm looking forward to reading your poems sometime, Nelly. I adore the Dylan Thomas poem.
On a related topic, I just submitted work to an anthology of poems based on prompts and they accepted all three. They are open for submissions until the end of June and all the poets here are writing poems based on prompts. Here's the link:
Every verse! I just love this. I will be printing this out for my wall. Especially the second and third verses. Thankyou so much, its just beautiful 😍 I'm considering new ink, no 10 or there abouts. I havent come across my wild flowers just yet xxx
I can’t write about Palestine at the moment and do it justice - it’s all just too horrific. I did rewrite a rubbish poem trying to be a little political combining it with another - it’s still a work in progress.
.
Democracy is threatened by mistaken beliefs,
common sense abandoned wilfully, carelessly,
seditious alternatives garnered without thought,
sought, traded, and swapped on a whim.
And armchair socialists, sitting in gentle suburbia,
I know what you mean in regard to Gaza. I am relying on the words of others because I can't seem to formulate my own. As per your request was - well, for lack of a better word - haunting. I've always loved a ghost story.
The poems you shared today are such catharsis. Which leads me to ponder how expansive cathartic poems can be. Thank you for opening that up wider for me, Nelly! This week I found myself writing the poems I need to hear and one of the questions that came up for me is: how do you all navigate circling around the same themes or finding yourself returning to the same language? And here is my offering (in 2nd draft status) this week:
I love the short lines, it gives a pace to it which really builds and makes the last lines ever more powerful 🙏🏼❤️
I also just lean into it when themes keep popping up for me. And oftentimes I feel as if my words get stronger for it, quicker to find the point. As well as it just being cathartic in itself 😊
The heaviness of carrying a shield for others. You describe putting it down with such insight.
I think if themes and words are popping up again and again that’s often what your ears and intuition are collecting from around you, stirring you to write xx
This is so beautiful, Erin. I've found myself revisiting a lot of the same themes and words in my poetry recently, and I am leaning into it. I think there are always new angles and unique phrasing to be found to describe the same things.
I love that you’re leaning into it - makes me feel like I have permission to do the same. It’s a much better strategy to trust there’s something more there to explore. Thank you so much for this.
Thank you for sharing these poems. One of my favorite go-to poems when my heart hurts is Do not stand by my grave and weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye, a reminder that we are more than our bodies in this life. We are souls having a human experience and this is not the end.
Nelly, thank you for your honesty about your prompt and your offerings of cathartic poems. I am glad you shared what you needed. It's good for my heart, too.
(Sorry just finished writing this comment and coming back to say at the start that I’ve written another essay this morning 🙈)
Thank you for sharing this Nelly and for your honesty. It is horrifying to bear witness to what is going on and to feel useless, I keep trying to find ways to help but I do feel powerless. 💔 I wrote a short poem on it last week too, which I shared on Instagram, about the contrast between my children and the children in Gaza. It’s devastating.
On this week - I really adore the Ellen Bass poem 🥰 When you first said the prompt I actually thought of Wendy Cope’s The Orange again as my “comfort” poem, which I’d talked about last week, so then I was trying to think of another poem to share. It’s not exactly a tonic or balm, but I return to it often -
To the Woman Crying Uncontrollably in the Next Stall
BY KIM ADDONIZIO
If you ever woke in your dress at 4am ever
closed your legs to someone you loved opened
them for someone you didn’t moved against
a pillow in the dark stood miserably on a beach
seaweed clinging to your ankles paid
good money for a bad haircut backed away
from a mirror that wanted to kill you bled
into the back seat for lack of a tampon
if you swam across a river under rain sang
using a dildo for a microphone stayed up
to watch the moon eat the sun entire
ripped out the stitches in your heart
because why not if you think nothing &
no one can / listen I love you joy is coming
***
I love this poem because it feels like it distils the experience of being a woman in the modern world — all these moments that make us human, vulnerable, messy. It has a wild and free feeling, especially with the lack of punctuation and grammar. This is stuff that I love to write about myself, the things that make you glad to be alive. What I’ve written in response doesn’t really feel like a poem but I thought I’d share it anyway! It maybe feels like a little jarring when we are talking about the horrors of genocide, but I suppose that’s the complexity of living through this time, like both things can be true? I don’t know.
How do we survive with all this mess —
the pain of vulnerability
and all the marvellous, terrifying
experiences that humanity holds?
How do we cope with the wild, vivid
heartache of being a woman in this world?
The answer always comes
in the form of other women.
Open the door: she’s listening,
waiting to lift you up.
She’s been you
and she sees you
and she holds you.
‘The answer always comes
in the form of other women.’ ❤️
This is so true. Beautifully written Ellen. I will come back to this lovely one xxx
Thank you 🥰
i loved this 🥹🥹🥹 thank you for sharing, it made me tear up
I love this Kim Addonizio poem 😍 and your response too - is so powerful and true.
I must asked myself the question in your first line multiple times a day
Yes, I’ve felt myself questioning that a lot recently too ❤️❤️ thank you Zoe!
Incredible choice of poem and loved reading your response to the cruelty happening in the world x
Thank you, Lisa ❤️
Love this!!
What you wrote definitely feels like a poem to me, and it's beautiful. Thank you for sharing, Ellen.
Thank you ❤️
Thank you for sharing the poems Nelly 🙏🏼❤️
I’m finding the news very hard just now, so much of it feels broken, it’s not forming into poetry for me just yet. I’d love to read some of yours one day ❤️
From the prompt on Sunday -
Maggie Smith’s poem - Good Bones-is the one that did it for me, that came along at the right time and that sparked my love of poetry outside of the GCSE anthologies ❤️ https://poets.org/poem/good-bones
I still can’t really read it without feeling emotional.
The poem is also shared in her memoir and her memoir is also lovely - https://www.wob.com/en-gb/books/maggie-smith/you-could-make-this-place-beautiful/
I already wrote a long form piece on this poem a while back, you can read it here 😌 https://postpartummatterscic.substack.com/p/you-could-make-this-place-beautiful
And here’s my poem that I took from that long form piece ❤️
#20 Good Bones - for Maggie Smith:
I read it, all alone,
In my dark house; sleeping toddler
In bed. Our second fatherless Father’s Day.
The skin turned back from purple.
I had just turned twenty five.
Friends going on week long trips
To warm places, nights out and
Bad decisions that would later turn into
Nostalgic memories as I sat alone in my
Two-bed bungalow, with a two year old
Child, a dog, two cats and a heavy mortgage.
Portioning off money into pots,
Calculating how much
I could spend on food if I decided
To go to that play group next week.
There are moments from that time
Of my life that still feel spiky, that still hurt
To touch. And reading ‘Good Bones’
by Maggie Smith on my second fatherless
Father’s Day is one of them.
I remember us going out for the day.
Just them and me, tiny hand in mine.
I don’t remember where we went. I just
Remember the families. So many families,
Smiling and laughing and enjoying each other.
My sadness felt dirty and wrong. Pushing
My baby on the swing all by myself felt
Like I was doing something private, for home;
Airing out my dirty laundry in public.
Afterwards, I read that poem, bone tired
From the endless work of my life, and I
Sobbed. Then I wrote it out on a scrap piece
Of paper and stuck it to my kitchen wall.
“This place could be beautiful, right?
You could make this place beautiful.”
Zoe… I am sitting in sober stillness, feeling honoured to have been invited to read these words you’ve shared. You are making this place beautiful.
Wow!!! This is stunning, and heartbreaking but beautiful!! Thank you for sharing x
Zoe, wow. I’m not sure how to express how deeply this has affected me. It’s beautiful, and it hurt my heart, and it’s made me cry. You are such a gifted writer and a wonderful person - and mother ❤️ thank you for sharing this with us. I love good bones too, I almost shared that one this week ❤️❤️❤️
Wow, thank you, Ellen 🙏🏼❤️ I’m so glad it landed well.
It is such a good poem, I think it will stay with me for a very long time
Oh Zoe, this piece is so profound. You paint the feeling of outside-ness so well. We need such a wake up in society of what it takes to be a protective parent and to honour and centre all that has been lived and is being lived.
‘bone tired
From the endless work of my life,’ 🤍
The act of sticking the paper to the wall - captures something so beautiful, wow (I welled up). Thank you so much for sharing xxx
Thank you Ange ❤️
I love this poem, Zoe. Thank you so much for sharing it. I was especially struck by:
"Pushing
My baby on the swing all by myself felt
Like I was doing something private, for home;
Airing out my dirty laundry in public."
This makes me catch my breath. It's so vivid and heartbreaking and sweet.
Wow zoe x this is beautiful . Thank you so much for sharing
I feel your pain and hurt through your words. It’s so moving.
Good Bones is one of my favourites, too. Your poem is so powerful, Zoe. I think it speaks to the catharsis of poetry on a number of levels.
Thank you Nelly. You word the dissonance so well.
I’ve been thinking about The Clearing by Martha Postlewaite: https://www.gowildinstitute.org/clearing/
How she writes about wanting to save the whole world and how alongside that tending to our lives, our days, our nervous systems feels so small but the power there is in this base…
I felt horribly, viscerally triggered out of the blue a week or two ago and wrote something that felt good to write but does feel a bit lacking in description….
*A poem when triggered*
May the tips of my toes know the tender but solid, sturdy ground beneath them
May my chest rise and fall in fluent, steady motion: filling, emptying, filling, softening.
May my hands know reassuring points of contact: temperature, pressure, texture, reminders of their place with me.
May interactions be soft, simple and filled with a gentle, comforting, ordinariness.
May I sense patience more readily than urgency. The urgency that was once my body striving for my safety - an army in defence of one so precious now standing down to rest.
May I know the presence of trusted ones who somehow lift some weight off my nervous system, allowing it to breathe.
May I connect with a small joy, something that I love and may that connection soothe my senses, reminding me of goodness here.
It’s sort of grown since then as I realised all of these things are soothed for me in a forest . It’s a bit long so I won’t post it here but it starts with:
🌳I go to the Forest for the Forest Holds Me
I go to the forest, for the forest holds me,
set my steps to the rhythm of the woodland floor. There’s a place for each footprint amongst raised, stedfast roots.
May the tips of my toes know the tender but solid, sturdy ground beneath them.
Bracken and birch send safety signals through their scented air.
May my chest rise and fall in fluent, steady motion: filling, emptying, filling, softening….
Thank you for your share, Ange 🙏🏼 I’d never read The Clearing - it’s beautiful. As are your words.
‘May I sense patience more readily than urgency’ - I find doing this so hard.
I feel held with your words, Ange. Beautiful.
Oh Ange these are absolutely beautiful ❤️ your writing is always so centred and peaceful. Gorgeous! and I really like the idea that we must tend to ourselves and our lives to be able to do the other work.
That’s so lovely Ellen, thank you x
Thank you for reminding me about The Clearing! And I would love to read your whole poem - just those first two stanzas are so beautiful, Ange.
Ah thank you for your lovely feedback and interest. It’s still a work in progress but here’s what I have…
🌳 I go to the Forest for the Forest Holds Me
I go to the forest, for the forest holds me,
set my steps to the rhythm of the woodland floor. There’s a place for each footprint amongst raised, stedfast roots.
May the tips of my toes know the tender but solid, sturdy ground beneath them.
Bracken and birch send safety signals through their scented air.
May my chest rise and fall in fluent, steady motion: filling, emptying, filling, softening.
A misshapen, perfect stick calls to me for collection. Scooped from the spongy, earthy carpet.
May my hands know reassuring points of contact: temperature, pressure, texture, reminders of their place with me.
I have walked this woodland path in faithful, familiar repetition. Witnessed its seasons as it has witnessed mine.
Interactions soft, simple and filled with a gentle, comforting, ordinariness.
The patience of slow, barely celebrated growth over decades surrounds me.
May I sense patience more readily than urgency. The urgency that was once my body striving for my safety - an army in defence of one so precious now standing down to rest.
Landmarks enduring, orientating. Trusted points of reference.
May I know the presence of trusted ones who somehow lift some weight off my nervous system, allowing it to breathe.
A clearing. Sunlight finds my face. Intricate shadows dance on the forest floor.
May I connect with a small joy, something that I love and may that connection soothe my senses, reminding me of goodness here.
I go to the forest, for the forest holds me.
This is so deeply comforting. Thank you so much for sharing!
Thank you for your lovely encouragement 🙏
This is lovely. I love being surrounded by trees in a forest. I feel held.
I reread Small Cures by Della Hicks-Wilson this week and this was one that stuck out to me(periods between lines just to keep formatting):
/day six/
.
remember this:
your heart is both
your softest place
and your strongest muscle.
it breaks. and beats.
at the same time.
I've been thinking a lot about hearts recently, and I wrote this one called "cardiology" this week:
I am sitting
before a man
who has
held hearts
in his hands,
as he assures me
once again
that, functionally,
mine is fine;
.
so why
does it ache
so often?
so much more,
it seems,
than others
of its kind?
.
I will try to take it
with a grain of salt -
or, rather, several -
to find a way to absorb
what feels like a lie:
.
I am fine;
my heart just
hurts sometimes.
This is gorgeous ❤️🩹 There’s a Self Esteem lyric which is “I just wanna let you know there's a point in you, And I know you find it harder than your peers do” that always resonates with me, and your poem made me think of it. Here’s to sensitive, tender hearts ❤️
That's lovely, thank you for sharing!
Oh, I love this so much.
Oh, this is so beautiful. I keep rereading it.
Wow 😍👏
Firstly, that’s another poetry book I am having to order 😅
And your share is wonderful. I feel this too.
And then the repetition of ‘I am fine’ can also be quite exhausting.
But, imagine a life where you couldn’t feel your heart breaking and beating. I do think that would be much worse.
Yes! I'm learning to embrace the ache. 🧡
“I am fine;
my heart just
hurts sometimes.”
❤️🩹
Beautiful x
Ooo, all the feels
I'm looking forward to reading your poems sometime, Nelly. I adore the Dylan Thomas poem.
On a related topic, I just submitted work to an anthology of poems based on prompts and they accepted all three. They are open for submissions until the end of June and all the poets here are writing poems based on prompts. Here's the link:
https://redwolfeditions.wordpress.com/
Thank you so much LeeAnn xx
Congratulations, LeeAnn!!!
Congratulations! Thank you for sharing!
Not sure if I fulfilled the brief properly but this was the poem I wrote in response to the prompt and a tattoo I had done yesterday on the theme. These were the words I needed to hear this week. To save space and to properly explain, you can read it here https://open.substack.com/pub/lisaandradez/p/weeds-and-wildflowers?r=2rd9w&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true
‘You do not need to do the things that other people do
to make yourself feel better,’ 🤍
Every verse! I just love this. I will be printing this out for my wall. Especially the second and third verses. Thankyou so much, its just beautiful 😍 I'm considering new ink, no 10 or there abouts. I havent come across my wild flowers just yet xxx
Thank you 😊
Oh I love these concepts Lisa - and your tattoo is absolutely gorgeous 😍
Beautiful (both poem and tattoo)!
I love this, Lisa:
"You edge dweller, margin seeker, wild flower, you
you have never fitted into those plastic wrapped parcels
you stood out, lived differently and you have always been yourself
why change now?"
I'm late to this prompt, but wanted to share anyway. It helped me to write the poem I needed this morning--thank you, Nelly. https://open.substack.com/pub/margaretannsilver/p/i-am-having-a-hard-time-with-this?r=2ghube&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web
As. I wrote on my stack I don’t really have a poem, as I had a novella - Jonathan Livingston Seagull by Richard Bach. I wrote about and give a poem here https://open.substack.com/pub/tamchennell/p/poetry-pals-week-20-finding-the-poetry?r=2mh4vu&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true, and the poem that needed to be written was one I wrote about here https://tamchennell.substack.com/p/poetry-extras-as-per-your-request?r=2mh4vu -please pop over and look at them if you will.
I can’t write about Palestine at the moment and do it justice - it’s all just too horrific. I did rewrite a rubbish poem trying to be a little political combining it with another - it’s still a work in progress.
.
Democracy is threatened by mistaken beliefs,
common sense abandoned wilfully, carelessly,
seditious alternatives garnered without thought,
sought, traded, and swapped on a whim.
And armchair socialists, sitting in gentle suburbia,
in 100 year old heritage houses,
sigh and drink their free trade wine
comfortably settled but bemoaning
how the world has changed.
But they don’t do anything today
and probably won’t do it tomorrow either.
They won’t do a thing.
They don’t do anything.
Phew. Powerful, Tamsin.
I think the political poem is really effective, Tamsin ❤️
Thanks Ellen, I still don’t like it though.
Wow:
"They won’t do a thing.
They don’t do anything."
"Yesterday" is so good, and you know how I feel about "as per your request" 💛
I love your poem, Tamsin. I think it really rings true. I can almost hear them cry ‘what could we do’ whilst continuing not to do anything at all.
I know what you mean in regard to Gaza. I am relying on the words of others because I can't seem to formulate my own. As per your request was - well, for lack of a better word - haunting. I've always loved a ghost story.
Thank you on as per… others are better than me at Gaza. I just can’t process the horrificness of it all.
The poems you shared today are such catharsis. Which leads me to ponder how expansive cathartic poems can be. Thank you for opening that up wider for me, Nelly! This week I found myself writing the poems I need to hear and one of the questions that came up for me is: how do you all navigate circling around the same themes or finding yourself returning to the same language? And here is my offering (in 2nd draft status) this week:
I want to hear
your voice
telling me the truth
of all you needed
to keep hidden
to be safe enough
to belong
to them
I see you
waking
to the ways
you need to be
safe enough
to belong
to yourself
you have learned
the necessity
of a life untethered
to all the things
that pull you
apart
yet never
break you free
until you name
the wounds
you’ve kept covered
protecting everyone
in the darkness
of their shadows
while your wounds
seep
through every layer
you’ve put on
peel them off
let them weep
uncovered
so the wind
and the sun
can graze them
tenderly
in the elements
of plain daylight
tell me the truth
and let yourself
be seen
I love the short lines, it gives a pace to it which really builds and makes the last lines ever more powerful 🙏🏼❤️
I also just lean into it when themes keep popping up for me. And oftentimes I feel as if my words get stronger for it, quicker to find the point. As well as it just being cathartic in itself 😊
Stunning Erin. And your words:
‘until you name
the wounds
you’ve kept covered
protecting everyone
in the darkness
of their shadows
while your wounds
seep
through every layer
you’ve put on
peel them off
let them weep
uncovered’ 🔥
The heaviness of carrying a shield for others. You describe putting it down with such insight.
I think if themes and words are popping up again and again that’s often what your ears and intuition are collecting from around you, stirring you to write xx
This is so beautiful, Erin. I've found myself revisiting a lot of the same themes and words in my poetry recently, and I am leaning into it. I think there are always new angles and unique phrasing to be found to describe the same things.
I love that you’re leaning into it - makes me feel like I have permission to do the same. It’s a much better strategy to trust there’s something more there to explore. Thank you so much for this.
Gorgeous x
Thank you, Lisa. x
Thank you for sharing these poems. One of my favorite go-to poems when my heart hurts is Do not stand by my grave and weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye, a reminder that we are more than our bodies in this life. We are souls having a human experience and this is not the end.
Nelly, thank you for your honesty about your prompt and your offerings of cathartic poems. I am glad you shared what you needed. It's good for my heart, too.