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Apr 2013
You know why poetry matters to me?
Do you think this is all you can see
that this skin and bone pertains to be,
this is mouth and voice and identity
and ego and consciousness, this is me?
Though i am fallible and i am naive,
and i wear my heart upon my sleeve.
There is more to me that my face and speech
There is more to me than you can even reach.
There is so much to hear from the works of Ghibran or Neruda,
Or Poe or Elliot, Dickinson, or Plath.
And words from poetry is like sinking into a hot bath,
its like a dance in warm rain,
its like standing in the middle of a hurracaine
My words are not easy to speak
so i spill them out on pages of white sheet,
and they are hurt, bruised and frustrated
and its mostly about people i have dated.
And I would like to thank my past for its hard work and dedication
thanks to you my suffering became, my inspiration
Poetry is an art, a placebo, a cure, that i can 'do'
for i don't need no pills or physical freedom when i am blue
I simply find a safe room inside my head
and sit and write as i cry my tears in my bed.
These words are majestic and dance a ballroom waltz and trot,
these words are shameful, and ***** and seriously ****** up 'for-me-not's.
This is My moment, this is My silence, My ****** fears
This My rapture, My beauty, My steadfast tears,
and all alone a page they are written for one and for all,
and i hope desperately you can feel them and hear their call.
They are unique and potent, and deadly and insane,
for a wrote them at times when i had loved in vain.
And i started writing to find a way out,
of my life, my hurt, to let me quietly scream and shout.
These words are my breath standing on a canyon side,
these words are my juice, my burn, my life, my ride.
This is my love, my pain, my heart, my song,
its everything i did right, and all i did wrong,
its the moon, and the stars, and its the world in a day,
and it helps me to forget, forgive, with words i can't say.
There is something inside me stronger than my voice
and poetry helps me when i don't have that choice.
It's like a firework wishes to explode and i can't contain the heat,
and there are bullets are forming in my layrnx,
and there is tidal wave coming from my feet.
It's my labyrinth, my misunderstanding, my heart-******-break
it's my reflection, my questions, my wrath and my poisonous (Garden of Eden) snake.
It is my wanton lust, my passion and my unbridled perfect sin
It is my partition, my isolation, my grief, my inconsolable twin.....
It's my everything i am not when i am on the outside,
It's everything i am, even those parts i can't hide
It's everything i am.
It's everything i am not.
But, poetry matters
It's the very part of me.
Rachael Stainthorpe
Written by
Rachael Stainthorpe  Huddersfield
(Huddersfield)   
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