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Where a Poem Belongs

“Where a poem belongs is here, in the warmth of the chest;
out in the world it dies of cold.” by Rumi

This was the introduction to a writing prompt today

The prompt itself was; What poem does your chest/breast/heart long for you to write. Give it voice now.

I am often surprised by the out come. 5 minutes. Who knew it would be enough to open up a heart?

I don’t know if it’s a poem just yet. It’s more a sense of belonging. Of safety. Of being right, even when you’re doing it wrong. YOU are right. The thing you did was not. You are free to express yourself without fear of someone’s critical retort.  As Rumi said, it belongs in your heart. In your breast. To stay warm. Not to feel the stabbing cold of … disappointment? No. Judgement. From ones who don’t understand. My poem will be of this. A safe place, where there is freedom to say what is real.

I am grateful I have found my hiding place. Peace now fills my heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Someone Else’s Life

I don’t know who she was.

That little one wound like a spring.

Someone else’s life.                             .

 

I don’t know what she wanted.

She didn’t know either.

Someone else’s life.

 

I don’t know the questions she needed answers to.

She searched and searched and protected her heart.

Someone else’s life.

 

I don’t know all the places she looked ,

For love, acceptance and freedom,

Someone else’s life.

 

I don’t know how it became,

But love found her,

Way back there,

In someone else’s life.