Every Day Is a Poem by Jacqueline Suskin (manga ereader txt) 📗

do to this hard work with your trauma, if you’re able. Give yourself permission to move into the realm of blame. Maybe move beyond it toward forgiveness.

HOWEVER YOUR PROCESS

LOOKS, YOU CAN WRITE

IT DOWN AND FIND THE

POETRY THAT PAIN PRESENTS.

Our traumas create our fears, and our responses to these fears can be as poetic and beautiful as we make them. Let your pain be a source of inspiration, turn this heavy load into poetry, own it, use it, and take as much from it now as it has taken from you in the past.

Close your eyes and meditate on the hidden ache you carry. I like to start with my childhood because that’s what makes sense for me, but you can start anywhere along your timeline. Do you see any images attached to your discomfort? Can you try and put words to your grief and your loss? Who hurt you? What was their childhood like? Why did they do what they did? Make use of the pain of being alive. See the universality in whatever caused you harm, and focus on the connection to others who have survived similar experiences. When I sit with my wounds, I find my resilience, and that makes me want to linger there, gather up the lessons left in the aftermath, and use them for my own creation. Writing about my pain enables me to claim it as my own, and this ownership is empowering.

Every poem holds the power to do this

healing work, to give a reflection, to present

a relationship with newness and possibility.

How can you show your reader your personal methods of self-care in a poetic way? Maybe start by writing a list of poems or even song lyrics that have been healing for you in the past. I have poems dog-eared and underlined in every book on my shelf, and I’ll pull them out in a moment of need. They’re my reminders that yes, it is indeed hard to be alive for everyone.

WRITING PRACTICE

HOW TO WRITE A HEALING POEM

My work with Poem Store allowed me to witness humanity’s widespread suffering. We’re all aching over loss and dissatisfaction, over cruelty and hatred, and yet, when someone makes space for our pain, we find solace. In every spontaneous poem that I write in response to sorrowful subject matter, I make space for the pain. Each line I create shows the reader that I see them, I hear them, I accept their struggle and respond to it openly, with care and consideration. Just as I do this for others, we can all do this for ourselves through poetry as well.

How can a poem be healing? Add light to the dark places. Write down the ways your pain has been an impetus for positive change. My issue with feeling unlovable caused me to engage in a healing process that has allowed me to better express myself with friends and lovers, enriching my connections and communication skills. My pain actually opened me up.

LET THE DARK

PLACES BE

TEACHERS.

Describe the lessons you’ve learned and the ways you’ve grown in response to the most hurtful parts of your life. Understanding that my childhood trauma affects my present relationships has enabled me to have compassion for myself and my behavior, which I might otherwise judge harshly. This compassion slows me down and helps me clearly communicate my needs.

Balance your pain with future possibility. Consider what it looks like to live with your pain and to accept the healing process for the long haul. After losing my best friend to drugs and alcohol, I see my grief as a continuation of our connection, a lifelong presence that will help me help others in the future.

Let the sorrow be compared to all things light and heavy. Does it burn hot like the sun? Is it an iron plate over your chest? When I envision my sorrow, I see my heart as a burnt charcoal rose with a hole in it. As I practice healing and write about my feelings, the rose changes shape; it sings and blooms according to my willingness to tend to it.

Heart Song II

I’m the white heron.

I’m the ginger root.

Wings wide in seamless

effort, floating high above.

Deep spice dug from soil,

built in darkness.

When I see my heart

it’s a rose

made of charcoal.

The hole inside

is dark and the petals

wither around it.

But I spread my feathers

and my body dives down

into fire, where I remember—

The rose has a season

and look now, it’s huge again,

pure red, singing within this small breast.

If you don’t feel whole, try to write down a version of wholeness that makes sense to you. Use this practice as if it were a spell meant to call your wholeness into form. I like to meditate on the things I’m afraid of and then make a counter list, reversing my fears: I’m not afraid to be loved; I’m not afraid to ask for what I need; I’m not afraid to be the student. Then I like to flesh these ideas out and make poetry with the results. This is a recipe for my healing.

Remind your reader that we’re all sad together. When they see your sadness on the page, it acts as a mirror. We’re not meant to look away from suffering. It’s a catalyst that leads to greater wisdom. Remind your reader that renewal is an innate human skill. We’re made to grow and become better. Our bodies renew. Our minds renew. We heal and change. This is a truth built into being, and so, it can be built into our poems as a healing tool. Show us what it looks like to move from one state to the next; let us see your exploration and your struggle to become new. A poem can remind us of the methods we have access to that help us all recover.

A poem can say yes, this suffering