Sunday, 16 October 2016

Poetry: The Nitty Gritty Necessity

Sometimes it can be helpful to try out new and different means of expression and engage our creativity in the feat of unraveling our inner thoughts.

Poetry is one such method that has weaved its way in and out of my journey as required. Sometimes it gave language to experiences that felt beyond basic explanation; it allowed analogy and comparison to convey feelings I didn't even fully understand myself. Other times it served to shape stories of celebration, hope and excitement.

For others it might be art, music, activities, anything. There's unlimited means of speaking our truth to be explored, and discovering which of these we can become fluent in, is going to give our voices real volume.

Sometimes it's just nice to find out how to tell our narrative in a new way.

This week, poetry is going to tell a little tale about freeing ourselves from the final roots of 'not good enough' that may be holding us back:


The nitty gritty called me, several times,

Leaving its message inscribed in various signs

Recurrent raindrop reminders I refused to address

Instead choosing to suppress the duress of its upcoming test;
The mess - in which, it knows I’m scared to fall
The reason I chose to reject that call.

Yet, I know too the facts of fear
And the trilling truths I don’t want to hear
I know that what I resist persists,
And that life consistently insists
On presenting me with what I need
So maybe, maybe it’s time to concede


As its resounding alarm refused to snooze,

I had to choose;

To recall that I don’t run anymore,

If anything I embrace the exciting invite to explore,

So I awaken to this request, this invitation inside the pain
Realising I’ve nothing left to lose, and everything to gain.

‘Write about me’ was the message’s demand
The clarity in its command knew my freedom would understand.
The message magnified as the seed grew, beginning to blossom into what I need to do;


Write about it. 

Write about the reason your stomach coils into a knot, 

When overwhelm points out what you still haven’t got,

Write about why being human can feel so godamn hard,

Why you wish to be armoured with an unwavering guard,

Why you think you’re so very afraid of hurt,
Why you’d ever attempt to hustle for your worth.
Stop quoting your lessons and learn them instead, 
And while you’re at it, actually feel the shit going on in your head.

It’s okay.

It’s okay to cry without any idea why. 
It’s okay to feel each feeling rise steadily high


When you have tears in your throat - it’s okay to resist the reflex to swallow

Instead let their natural flow follow, allow the healing sea outpour from within

Its waves whispering the soothing din,

A relentless reassurance you shrugged off before

Demanding of yourself to always take on more.

It’s okay to pause.

To take a moment and recall that this journey won’t be without its flaws,
So welcoming their colour gently unveils the core of this cause.

It’s okay to realise that there’s work still to do,
And doing something about that is entirely up to you
You can ignore the messages that well up inside,
The niggly insecurities that you try to hide,
You can do what you want, because the pen is in your hand. 
So you ultimately decide where you'd like to stand.

But the nitty gritty will call and ask that you listen.
That you use it to constructively conquer this condition.
It’ll implore that you embrace what it has to say
And it’ll rise to the surface impatient to be wiped away,
It rises with discomfort, defiantly dispersing the defence,


It was hardly going to just pop up without emotional expense

But when we choose to write our way out, its challenging purpose becomes crystal clear

And whispers of freedom replace its recuurent voice in our ear

Our exploration leads us to the inspiration for our new creation

One of a messy wonderful whole life, enriched with a concrete foundation of liberation
Cultivated purely from the decision to embrace uncomfortable contemplation
Of the answers to our curious confusion, tirelessly choosing to disband any old roots of delusion,
To respond to the internal intercom shouting the unravelling that remains
To finally heal the wounds of all our old pains.

The nitty gritty called me and when I finally answered the call
I showed up and unleashed my free self once and for all,
I wrote my way into a masterpiece that's entirely mine
Because the nitty gritty called me, several times.





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