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Words are interesting critters. You key them (or write them) to convey emotion. Some people key (or write) to analyze. The trick here is to acquire a base to understand the difference. Too many times people take passionate words written to explore the depths of an issue and make them into some clinically definable slot devoid of the intended reach.

Then there’s the folk who look at depth of emotion expressed as something to fear or feel bad about. When an emotive writer exorcises what lies deep within, these good-intentioned people look at the words as something bad or something to wring hands over with tremendous concern. This occurs most often in the folk who have no capacity to understand what it is to feel on those levels. They fear the emotions so much, they work hard to convince the poor writer he should not be so hard on himself.

Writing expressed for public consumption most often finds the public eye because the writer wanted to address a topic for others’ information or well-being. Yes, there can be pain attached. Yes, there can be recriminations that appear unpleasant, but to cover these truths up serves no one. To censor writing is to take away the very value the writer intended in the first place.

Yes, agree, disagree with the writer all you wish, but ask him not to be so hard on himself or the situation is tantamount to asking the great explorers of history to sit home and live off a stipend. When writers grow to the point they “write it real” and expose themselves in the process, this is no act of someone weak who cannot bear the weight of the words. Quite the contrary. I believe the person who asks the writer to back off possesses strength issues for the most part.

Many writers work hard to produce their best writing. Many, like myself, are not pleased with the bulk of their production. Why? Not necessarily because the writing itself is worthless or suspect, but because the writing does not come close to where they know they can be. My best books still await me. I know this. I only hope I live long enough to create them.

Poetry has become my haven for writing because I feel a freedom to explore and expand. To drill and to soar. To laugh and to weep. Isn’t that the human experience? Why write anything short of powerful no matter which style of writing is called for? Just because the topic is disturbing, is that any reason not to delve into the subject matter with a full-inner-body dive? I say there is no good reason for backing off introspection.

Someone’s gotta write what’s on their heart and soul. Does that mean the writing is definitive? Does that mean the writing is gospel truth? No. Dash that. What it means is the writer dug in and took a look at something on a profoundly personal level and passed it on to others so they might explore their hearts and souls.

The writing will resonate with some, repel others. Both outcomes are good and proper. Just don’t ask the writer to lighten up. Trust and believe the writing itself offers much therapeutic value if you’re that concerned. Better to trust the writer on the trip, ride with him, and take a peek at what may be lurking in your own heart of hearts.

Right?

Right.

Explorations

See me? The little boy peering into his past?
Tracking, trailing, sleuthing.
Watch memories drift slowly to awareness.
Marvels, they are, twinkling in and out of consciousness.

Horrors. Humiliations. Tumultuous times.
Sneak a peek – if you dare.
Observe cruelties large and small
Wonder at how the human spirit perpetuates itself.

Elations. Passions. Pleasant reveries.
Kindnesses pressed in lesser numbers
Each treasured in their circumstance
Magnified by their age.

We pass through so many thrills and trials.
Equations swirl outside us in their mathematical universe.
Intricacies intertwine emotional bands
Weaving a world of limited order, maximized chaos.

Who’s weak and who’s strong?
Mathematicians flee the emotional realm, analytics fail their masters
Empaths recoil from cold, calculated existence, their strengths nullified
The answer lies in where you stand…

See me, flipping deft through my past?
Too many cannot bear to go.
Too many deny any hint of strength and power.
I know where I stand…

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