My poetry is me, feeling my heart ache, but smiling anyway because I’m not afraid of it. It is me welcoming the work, leaning into the discomfort, and looking forward to the person I will continue to become- a better, stronger version of myself. Jennifer- RiseUp! Poetry
By Jennifer Stoll
One day something very old happened again....
and again. and again. and again.
It had a propensity for reoccurrence,
and though never welcomed, always let itself in.
One day was many days, was every day.
It chipped away here, chiseled away there-
the medium of a sadistic masterpiece-
and over all of the again. and again. and agains,
it withered me down until I was nothing.
one day is not TOday. One day was yesterday.
And though I don’t often take joy in the death of things, of this,
I cracked a smile.
And that “something very old”
is growing very old,
in a poly-cotton, orange jumpsuit,
behind bars and plate-glass windows- mediums
not quite as easy to manipulate as I. .
By Melody P. McCarthy
Dear inner critic I feel you less now,
Such as, in writing this down.
I am not afraid anymore
To be creative.
I love this unveiling
Of this lost part of me.