Writing Is An Act Of Courage

Conventionally, writing is thought of as a creative act. It is creating something from nothing, giving voice to an idea. While I don’t entirely discredit those notions about writing, they seem almost too simple. In my experience with writing, I have found it to be an act of courage. All my writings (poetry, stories, essays, journals) have a singular connection: they express what I can’t or won’t communicate with others. This can include certain people or events that have impacted me or very private thoughts and feelings. Writing can be an act of courage because it brings private ideas into reality when a pen is put to paper. There is something seemingly concrete about writing a statement out. It gives preservation to a though with the once fluid ability to slip through one’s mind and memory. Put simply, the action of writing declares our ideas in a more definite form. From this concept come the reasons that writing should be merited as an act of courage. For myself, the reasons are: writing allows me to face necessary truths about myself and it is a source of strength.

Writing allows me to face necessary, if sometimes unpleasant, truths about myself. This is because writing is a skill nurtured in solitude. Long before being shared or circulated, writing is a sharing of secrets kept between the pages and I. The best example of this in my writing life is my private journal. My journal is where I reflect on my life and myself as a person. There is no need for filters or social graces. There is an amazing sense of trust in solitary writing. Pages cannot talk, nor can they judge. I can openly process my feelings and motivations, even those that make me seem small. Writing allows me to face necessary truths because they are harder to deny when they stare back at me from a page. Writing gives the truth a state of permanence.

Writing is also a source of strength for me. My writing allows me to process. Writing helps me process feelings, fears, ideas, and thoughts, in my most articulate way. I’ve always thought of my poems as pieces of me. If read as a collection, they would give a mosaic-style complex image of who I am. Or at the least, how I see the world. Writing poetry is a form of exorcism. This is especially true when I write about a difficult topic or from a deep emotional state of mind. Poetry is a means of expelling heavy emotions that weigh me down. Casting those emotions from myself and onto the page gives me cathartic relief from them. If I’m able to contain emotions within a finite page, then I can understand them, communicate them, analyze them, and maybe resolve them. This is where strength comes from.

While concepts like creativity are relevant for writing, the most important lesson is in courage. Writing is an act of courage, it expresses commitment to ideas and will to own them. In writing, we confront deep personal truths and find strength in processing our own emotions. These skills require all the courage we have. 





Assorted Poetic Thoughts

I’m a functioning melancholic.

Looking into cappuccino foam is viewing a galaxy, the minuscule shining bubbles are stars with infinite possibility.

As an introvert I make an effort not to be memorable.

I drink cappuccinos on days I can’t afford to sugar coat my own bitter truths. Mochas are for drinking down little lies without question.

I am an eye of the storm, when colliding with the lives of others there is an immense circulating wall of feelings, flaws, and complexities. Those with the will to break through it will find an inner calm, an inner peace with who I am, and all that I have to offer. holding the storm together.

I cry before the things
I cannot have.
Then, I may claim them
In my tears.
But as all things do,
My tears return
To the earth, after all.


Coffee Themed Poem

Bitter Black

A Poem

I sit here at the coffee shop

Brewing dark thoughts

As I wait for my cup

Of caffeinated sin.

Watching the steam ascend

Lifts my soul just a bit


I grind my teeth syncing

With blending coffee

A plastic cup was brought,

Filled to the brim

As my mood poured

Out of my mind fluidly.


The barista sprayed on its

Whipped topping facade,

Mirroring my own illusions.

I was handed the coffee,

Taking a sip, but no,

The topping can’t mask the coffee,

Bitter and black.



Another Winter Themed Poem


A Poem

Strolling down Old Main

A chill breeze rolls through,

Winter’s first cavalry

Announcing its impending

Siege on the town.


Leaves rustle and whirl

As the sun slides

Below the horizon,

Eager to escape Winter’s grasp.


I enter an old, familiar place.


I order hot tea

And my palms hug it on arrival.

Spiced chai warmth rejuvenates

Me while I sit


Waiting for food.

Waiting for winter’s cruel descent.


Winter Is Here

For my first post containing my own poetry, I decided to look way back in my portfolio of poetry to find some that I wrote about winter time. Here in Saint Louis, MO we are being hit by a cold front. The past couple of weeks have been in the low double digits with some days in single digits. What could be more appropriate now than to share writing that derives inspiration from this bitter-cold season? The poem featured here was written a few years ago, if not more, and recently edited upon rediscovery.


A Poem

The new fallen snow is

A white, powdery dust.

My feet trek as snow

Softly crunches beneath.

Hoping I don’t lose myself

In the white world around me.

As long as I never stray.

The beauty, the softness, the serenity

Of the world captures me.

I cannot distinguish

Snow covered ground from pale hued sky.

If I should get lost

I need only to follow my tracks home.

Who wouldn’t want to be lost

In this other world of natural grace?

What more is there?

I turn and kick the snow

Covering my tracks so I never find my way back.

I have found my new home,

My true home.