Distortion

Happy National Poetry Day! ♥

I was drawn to writing ever since I could remember. I fell in love with words, with stories inside books, with the way the pen meets the paper. And then, for five years, I lost that. I stopped creating art. I stopped listening to my voice. I didn’t even recognize it. I am so glad that I found my way back.

To celebrate today, here’s a look at the first poem I ever got published:

 

DISTORTION

Windowed your split view,
Like the exterior of my conversation with vodka-
My words, tumbling from strawberry chapstick lips
“I wouldn’t lie to you, I swear.”
You search through limbed teeth just in case,
Not believing reassurance I found in the shot glass.
Then, rake up my tongue because it’s keeping hidden truth.
My tonsils become the rough bark of our argument-and there!
Hit realization, by eventually looking out from inside your living room:
I bear no fruit; aging and losing branches.
Stepping outside like I always knew you would,
disgust feeding that chainsaw hypocrisy,
You cut down the divided tree of my naïve mouth.

White lies don’t shed to be forgiven.

 

Image result for distorted tree

 

This poem was published in Issue 2 of The Blue Route when I was a freshman in college, circa 2009. (WOW!) See it in print here.

And P.S.  It is funny how life gets distorted, isn’t it? Our paths twist, people in our lives mislead us. The view we had can end up being so inaccurate from where we currently stand. Learn to morph, rise after buckling at the knees, speak through the garbled noise. Remember that pivots are necessary. Remember to stay true.

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National Poetry Day

 

It is National Poetry Day!
I won’t post a poem today, but instead, I want to ask my readers:
Where does your inspiration come from?
Any helpful writing exercises that you’ve used lately?
Drop the link to them (or your favorite poem) in a comment below!
Here is one of mine:

 

Always– Rane Arroyo

 

We met in proud Utah and wore opaque
vodka on those vague Sundays for the
unfaithful on your dangling back porch
while dreaming of the very New York
where we entangled for the last time.
Te quiero, you said there, my ears as
paths. You then vanished with a macho
because I had a lover,
because we’d never ride across Russia together in
that frozen train, because listening
to A Chorus Line all those weekends
didn’t teach us the foreign language of our bodies,
because of your career as a model
after years as a military mannequin,
because we never expected
adios to be our actual parting last word.
Because, because, and because.
You turned around to stare at me and I waved
back: I love you too.
What an education:
poetry always demands all my ghosts.

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P.S. Go fall in love with some words today.