Poetry Month Day 23: Draft Form

The poem I wanted to write
was an apology to my students
because today I was crabby and impatient

and how at first I thought it was about
(because technology)

and not about how
there is so much about me
that is broken

and not about the outrage
that day after day after day
people are shot first and fought for later

and certainly not about the hopelessness
of knowing there are things I CAN fix
and nobody wants what I’m selling

and I wondered
why was I so angry
I didn’t have a reason to be
because it’s just jamboard and google slides

The poem I wanted to write
was angry
and seething
and resentful
and rage-full

and unwilling to be tamed by words.

Published by Lainie Levin

Mom of two, full-time teacher, wife, daughter, sister, friend, and holder of a very full plate

11 thoughts on “Poetry Month Day 23: Draft Form

  1. “and unwilling to be tamed by words.”

    Some people, simply cannot be tamed by words, but oh, we their impact in our lives nonetheless. It is a blue mood that turned red. Your parting words remind me of The Dixie Chicks’ “I’m Not Ready to Make Nice.” Your brain says you should be apologetic, but your heart isn’t there yet. Welcome to being reminded you’re human. And Lainie, that’s okay.

    1. Thank you, Raivenne. I needed to hear that. My heart was ALL over the place, as evidenced by the pages of scrawl I produced that day. I knew it wouldn’t be right to publish something so raw. And there’s probably more to what I want to say – we’ll see, as you say, what my heart has to say about that…

  2. It seems like my mantra lately is, “Don’t read the comments.” The world is such a strange place right now, and it’s made so much worse by those who were once peripheral finding themselves with a voice and the ability to connect to the point of *appearing* to be mainstream.

    I realize I’m not exactly tracking with you poem, but your “nobody wants what I’m selling” has me thinking. It’s hard not to be angry right now.

    Thank you, as always, for sharing this.

    1. Thanks. It was strange to start writing my poem in a spiral notebook, only to have my thoughts running and spilling across and over pages. I thought to myself, “I can’t publish this.” I’m still trying to give it shape…

      As for the folks on the periphery finding their power, for some that’s good. For others, it’s poison. Hoping we all learn to differentiate between the two.

  3. These, these are the lines…

    and not about how
    there is so much about me
    that is broken

    …this, I understand. I am reading your posts in reverse order so I know the one following is on repair. I can’t fully express all that I want to say here on the power of words and anger and grace and need and destroying and repairing … I can only repeat a Hemingway quote that plays in my head each day, often multiple times a day: “The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong at the broken places.” There’s hope in those words. Just as there’s honest longing in yours, behind the pain and the anger. I hear it, my friend – I do.

    1. Thanks, Fran. You know, that’s a line that snuck away from me, and I never even noticed until after I hit publish. I had originally intended with the “so much broken about me” line for the “about” to mean more like “around” – and it didn’t even occur to me that the about could be…ABOUT me. And I thought WHOA. how on earth did I miss THAT double meaning when I composed? I’ll never be sure. As for the Hemingway quote, YES. It’s 100% on track. I feel like there are lots of folks who preach that we are strongest in those broken places. Still doesn’t feel good to be broken, but it is reassuring to know there will eventually be strength behind it. Thank you for hearing, for seeing, for caring.

      1. That’s happened to me, too, a line that got away – yet “broken” can allude to one’s heart, one’s spirit… as connected to your other lines, on shooting, on having capabilities that no one taps into… just sayin’!

      2. Yes! It’s a line that really did apply both ways, but I didn’t realize it until the poem showed me the deeper truth. Because POETRY. ❤

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