Poem of the Month - June 2024

There seems to be that one person you can spot in a crowd. They appear wild, maybe eccentric, and obscenely loud. I can attest that person has lived a childhood marked with an absence of emotional connection and seeking sensory extremes to balance it out.
You can be in the midst of many people, then you see them. They are wearing bright colors and mixmatched socks. You wonder if anyone said anything to them before they left, warning them to not be a weirdo. But that person, you see, is not seeking attention or unaware that they look disheveled or insanely colorful. They are aware that they resemble psychedelics. They are aware they look odd and misplaced in this world. That is their purpose but it is not for attention. It is their spirit shining through. They dress this way and they take creativity to another level.
Why?
Their internal and external world was filled with such a cloud of darkness that every attempt at bandaging the pain was done in vain. Their life became a whirlwind of madness. They witnessed things that no one should ever endure. How do they repair that?! They don’t. They mend it the best way they know how to. They retreat to the things they love and enjoy.
They add splashes of color. They hang paintings without symmetry or meaning. They decorate by what they feel. They dress in such a way that it resembles what they truly long for; life and life to the fullest.

They desire the freedom to speak their mind. They long for peace that comes from within and is undisturbed by external stimuli. They reach for it and they seek it with all their might.
Some days that fulfillment arrives but most days it doesn’t.

So they get their sketchbook and throw some scratches on the paper with a charcoal pencil. They dash paint onto a canvas just to see what comes about. But the most jaw-dropping thing of all is that they grab their pen and pad and they spill their thoughts.

This unseen world, within their journal or portfolio of poetry and stories, seems to come from a distant land. Not many understand it. Nor can many fathom, where such ideas and words come together.

It became madness. It became the deep nights of blackness. It became a perpetual black hole that they consistently found themselves climbing out of with no help from anyone.
It was their nails digging deep into the soil wall, fighting to be free and relieved of the darkness that always befell them.
They rose and stood, ready to take on more.
A shield in their hand and a sword swinging in the air.
They said, “Bring it because this is no different.”

They have paintbrushes in their heart and pens fastened to their belt. This became the void. This became the abyss from which their mind could go. It became the place not many know.

They could escape there and feel every emotion in safety. They could express their deepest hurts. They could reveal wisdom and insight to many but not all could see.
The sadness, and the despair, are displayed but not easily perceived.

This was the fog and thickening of thoughts. Seen in artistry and seen all around them. Feeling so misunderstood and overwhelmingly alone. This place became their haven where everything was known.
Lies were unraveled. Games were revealed. Every scheme someone delivered was not so disclosed.
  
This is where the greatest of minds escape. They turn inward and uniquely relate. This place is where flowers bloom and soon decay. Birds are soaring and then shot with blood displayed.

There is beauty and sadness. There is grief and gratitude. This place holds each side of the coin.

The creator knows this. The writer retreats to this intangible concept and visualizes peace. Every unseen thought and repressed feeling it seems.
All laid out and bringing release.
Bringing ease.

They allow it to flow. They allow it to pour.

The creator, the artist, to this place, is where they must go.