Window Pain

My emotion has always taken shape as art. Not always the same shape, but always art, none-the-less. The shape seems to always arise from the energy that is inside of me at that exact moment. I can find myself so engulfed with hurt that all my body can do is dance until that pain has found a new form. Pride can fill me up and spill over as a short story. I can find joy and my fingers find the closest instrument to fill the room with that feeling. I have noticed these creative moments are not tied to any one particular feeling. Sadness can find itself in photos as well as well plated meals. Singing loudly can resolve fear and amplify delight. They are compelled to take shape by some force that has always lived within the depths of me. I don’t know why, I just know that this is my way.

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On this particular Tuesday morning between the hours of 2:00am and 4:00am my body refused to sleep. I was restless. My brain wrestling with my heart to try to make sense of what my world had become when a poem just fell from me – there is no other way to describe it (believe me, I sat here trying to find a less crazy way to put that- I just couldn’t). I do not regularly write poetry; I cannot even think of the last time I had thought to do so. Sure, I would categorize myself as a creative (I’m human, aren’t we born creatives?) but, poetry was an unfamiliar avenue that I had never really held a road map to. But, on that early, cold morning, my feelings needed a new place to live, and that was the shape they took. I had no choice in the matter, really.

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I grabbed my nearest notebook and started to write. Words came to me like old friends settling in next to me in my favorite coffee shop. Full of meaning and a warm, encouraging glow. Finally, after weeks of this internal struggle, I was able to examine myself from the outside, because there I sat on the piece of paper, familiar and, most of all, true. I was able to see my feelings in a way that helped me to organize why the hurt I was feeling felt so compounded, so scarred. After it was on paper, I was able to put my pen down and drift into the best sleep I had had in a fortnight.

I’ve revisited this poem regularly since that night. So, today, I’d like to share that poem with you in case your feelings need a new shape to take. I call this poem Window Pain. I hope you like it.


Window Pain

A tinkle from the shop door’s bell
Joined the morning’s cold, rushed air
The sunlight, unknowingly comforted my skin

Eyes averted, you handed it back
Tossed it down, unwrapped
Stated, “Sorry, but I need to return this”

Explained, you were quite taken, at first,
With the music it made
And, the color- a brilliant, bright kaleidoscope
The shape, so unique, a true
masterpiece.
But, the thought of keeping it? You just didn’t know.

It was just a bit too banged up,
Bandaged,
A little too pre-used.
On closer inspection,
Maybe, not worth the work you’d have to do

I implored you to see
That it’s worth more than you’d be investing
I promised potential that was endless
The effort, I appealed, well worth taking

I tried to clarify, it just needed time
To be danced with, in time
Side by side
On the beat
On the beat

It needed a close look
A soft, smile-lined eye to see
That its colors, where they bled
Were buds of flowers blooming

And the parts that looked dark
Misshapen, shaded, soiled, shadowed
Were so primed for warm light to grow back some life
And, for once, it had hoped,
To be recognized
By one of its fellow, light-seeking kind

And, as for its shape,
Formed from unsteady hands
That handled it
Well without care

It just craved a new touch
A strong, gentle touch
To feel and be felt
To say, “I’m right here. I wont go anywhere.”

So, yes, you were right
It needs some sweet, steady love
“But, please,” I begged,
“You just need to see when it shines!”

I tried my best to explain
but, alas, you still turned away
No backward glance, no concern,
No sorrow, no sign of second guessing
So, I slowly wandered to it’s old, glass cage
Dusted off the base
Pinned up both tired ends,
Tattered and yet-again bruised

Replaced a bandage or two,
Walked back to the window, checked, one last time, for you
Metal chain, neon buzz
“Heart for Sale, Used”

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Still searching.

What growth has come from your rejections? How has dating in today’s dating culture felt to you? Have you ever used art to understand your feelings? Tell me about it below or share a story here.


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