Poetry and brokenness

Poetry erupts from a place of brokenness

Today I experienced the familiar emptiness
that has haunted my soul for ages
there was no agony or chaos
or the jitteriness
of not being able to put a finger on that nameless void
which makes me look compulsively unhappy

this time there was a certainty
even a sense of relief
for I felt at home in the abyss of my heart
loneliness had the flavors of solitude
and I felt a deep yearning
to scoop out my openly bleeding core
and place it on the cusp of my hand
to whisper soothing words of self-love
and burn with it without remorse

even the skies played along
winds blew against my pale skin
and winter felt unusually moist
like the cold embrace of a rainy day

I feel at ease
not having to silence the mind
through meaningless banter
I begin to write again
love notes to my forgotten selves
and dare to peep through the
cracks in my broken heart
which has always relished
the heady nectar of poetry