A Letter in the middle of the night.

Dear Poet friend,

Have you ever stopped and realized quite suddenly that your poetry is more honest than you are? I had it hit me today, like concrete blocks. I can push my thoughts out of my head 300 times a day, but when it comes to my poetry there is no faking it, try to fake it and the words don’t flow, the rhythm goes off, the heart doesn’t show, and the censored poem I try to write goes blank on the screen . I think it is because I have never once lied to myself in my writing. It is true to the point of pain sometimes. There have been poems I bled over publishing.  Scared, terrified of being seen, but unable to allow myself to hit delete once it was revealed.

I don’t lie to myself in my poems. Which is why, ironically, it is the place that brings me calm. It’s weird that the place that I cut myself open is also the place I feel most comforted. Sometimes I forget people can read my words. I imagine just one person, someone kind and strong reading my work, like a private diary only one person can see, though I know many can, it makes it easier to imagine only the one. Someone who understands my poetry is me talking in the dark with so much to say I cannot speak. I cannot speak but I can type. This person I imagine, knows me by my poems. They know I am a screw-up and a mess, but a mess and screw-up with the best of intentions, always.

I imagine they are curious and sensitive, like I am. Always wondering why we always feel so alone all the time, even when there are so many people in our lives. I could take my pick of people to talk to, but I choose to come here instead. It’s not the solitude, it’s the honesty that calls me here. It’s the thought that maybe if I write enough of my thoughts down, they will echo and call back to me in some small way.

I never realized something I wrote could make me so proud. I don’t regret my poems. They are a patchwork of my truest moments. The ones people don’t talk about even if they are good ones. I have so many thoughts, but I don’t share them out loud. I don’t know why I don’t. They all end up here where I can entrust them to that one lone person I imagine in my head.

As I get older I realize I don’t need certain things I always thought were so important. I don’t need sex, or money, or distraction, though these things are nice. What I really need, more than anything in this world, is the feeling of being at peace. Accepting and being accepted. Small, happy moments just thinking my thoughts and sharing them. I get teased and sometimes shouted at for my habit of solitude. People think it’s weird to want to be alone. I love to be alone. I like company, but what I love is wandering in my own head. Contemplating things I cannot express to people because they would never get it in a million years. Watching programs and just letting myself laugh, cry and rage at the television without wondering if the other person(s) in the room think I am weird. Doing what I am comfortable doing.

A normal night for me is watching Hulu while scanning Etsy during the one minute intervals. Drinking white grape juice like it’s wine (cause I hate wine but love that childhood play of pretending) and checking out facade online in hopes my favorite celebrity got a favorable reading this time around (Damn reversals). I have been watching Korean dramas lately, and I find they fill some vacancy I had inside for something endearing and silly at the same time. There was a moment that caught my attention and made me think. When I get caught in a thought it is the most amazing thing for me. I love to think things over. I could wander in my thoughts for a lifetime and still be content there. People think of these dramas as being something fluffy, and I can see why people would, but in the middle of it all there is something beautiful happening. The moment I am referring to was like seeing beauty. Even stories can transcend people, reach them.

It’s quiet tonight and for some reason I just felt a need to write a letter instead of a poem tonight. My thoughts are exploding from me and I needed to speak to my person, that one person that reads my poetry.

My heart is open tonight and I am strangely serene, even though things are not easy at the moment. I always thought that when the hardest things in life happened to me, that I would be deeply depressed. That the overwhelming qualities of my life would swallow my hope whole and leave me a lifeless shell. Instead I find I am calm. I am realizing that even in the worst possible situation, there is something there inside me accepting it all as it comes. Is it because I believe in joy? Because I know love? Because I have, in the very end of everything, knowledge that I have myself to turn to?

Remember that this place is here for you. I have felt these feelings and shared these truths because I know you feel them too. Come here when you need me. My poems will help you know something you didn’t know before you came, that you are never once alone..


Published by Bexley Benton. (Pen name)

I am B (call me BB and I will gut you) I like daisies, books, and men who understand the wisdom of Kermit the Frog.

%d bloggers like this: