I used to write poetry. I used to write all the time. I have folders and journals full of poetry that I wrote in my teens and 20’s. I continued writing into my 30’s and then for no reason that I am aware of, just stopped. I did a little editing on them about 10 years ago, but haven’t even looked at them since. I wish I knew why.

I’ve been thinking about the time in my life a lot lately (and truly it was the bulk of my life). In some ways I feel like I might be ready to write again. In other ways, I wonder if I will ever write poetry again. I want to pull out my old poems and see if they’re editable, but I’m scared.

There’s a whole lot of pain and loneliness written into those lines. A lot of desperation, heartbreak and feelings of total unworthiness. So much yearning to be loved. I’m not sure if I’m ready to bring all of that to the surface again. Or maybe I could get to a place where I could separate myself from the words. I don’t know.

I think I should though. I mean, that’s what this whole year is about, pushing myself through my walls and outside of my comfort zone. Would you be interested in reading some?