Poetry

to write this poem

I had to dig

deep,

deep down

into a drawer

that had been left untouched for years

Thick with dust and

terrible memories.

To write this poem

I exposed parts of my unbearable past

layers of papers like igneous rock

Letters from lovers

irrelevant newspaper clippings

Rambling accounts of dreams

dog-eared scripts and

labored scrawlings.

I had to read all of this

To write this poem.

 

To write,

I learnt how to breathe

differently

and let go.