The kindling hypothesis of depression states that episodes
of sadness, like fire, are more easily triggered over time.
But so too are words.
There is healing in aligning all that burn and tinder
with poetry that quiets the flame, that presses
back of hand to forehead and checks for fever.
There’s a reason why tattoos are so common
on the backs of wrists: words cover up scars
that, for too awful of a reason, still exist.
And often a pulse is better felt in the grip of a pen
than in a heart too tired to get out of bed
and lift its weary, hopeless head.
Poetry is the soothing palm that unclenches the closed fist,
the fire escape for words trapped behind sadness too deep.
So when darkness spreads like a cloak
over everything you hold near and dear,
clutch that string of words on paper like a kite
and let it carry you all the way up into a clear sky.
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Poetry As Healing
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