I forgot to grow that way

Hi there! I see you.

The collection of poetry I’ve made over these past 18 months is nearly complete. It shifts name each day, because it’s rare for me to find a cloak that fits it quite right.

I have a few interpretations for this - we humans are indecisive beings; the eternal quest for perfectionism; it’s my first completed work, so there’s a sense it means more than the others - but the one meaning that sits true in my body is this: I’m eager to write and grow more, and I tend to abandon the idea of a collection for a few months at a time, so once I return my preference for the title has changed.

When the world calls for me to perfect and prune, let it go. Speak without unhelpful self-filtering. Open my mouth and say what is true. Say the first word that comes to mind. Never aim to hurt, always stop short of that, don’t speak a truth that is rude and obnoxious - but please, practice expressing, every day.

If I had finished it twelve months ago, it would have been called “Life Lessons from the Soil”. It would have been a small collection, a snapshot of that spring. Now, it is a compendium - of stirring and rising, of the great abrupt falling - and of rebuilding.

Here are my words for today, which start its final section (so far it has three sections):

Oh hard, brave beasts of the night

You stirred and rumbled and quietly voted me out

while I slept, at peace, fingers curled empty.

I broke my banks and poured myself into every crack

Tossed and turned red-eyed to be every way inclined and begged

Please accept me, one way or another;



How could I know

All you wanted was the quiet night lily?



I forgot to grow that way; I was already

Building forests for you

Slashing and burning down criticising brambles

Spreading myself thin over fields of buttercups



Making your home out of everything

That was not me.

what I’ve read recently and adored: Radical Acceptance in non-fiction and Iron Widow in fiction. Let’s be friends on Goodreads?

what I’m doing more of: Talking to people. Constantly.  Sharing ideas. Sharing voice messages. This is a good time to catch me for a conversation. I’m actually replying to emails.

what I’m doing less of: I’m having less flow days. Creativity feels like a trickle, but not like a roar. This is good - I can fit in little bits and pieces here and there - but it’s sad because I do miss the waterfall, the surge of ideas, the constant thriving roar.