Poetry: The Art of Writing What Won’t Let Go

Some verses settle in my bones and refuse to leave

“Poetry has texture.” Image designed by Carmellita (The Author) in Canva

Why do I write poetry? I don’t think I’ve ever answered that question. To answer this question, I must first explain what poetry means to me. Poetry is rhythm, truth, and sense. Poetry has texture.

The texture of a poem can be smooth and flowing or rough and jagged, depending on the poet’s choice of words and the emotions she or he wants to convey. It can be delicate and ethereal or bold and powerful and evoke a wide range of sensations and responses while provoking an array of thoughts.

Most importantly, I see poetry as the heartbeat of language, the music beneath meaning. Poetry has a tangible essence we can not only feel but also experience. A single line can shake my soul, leaving an imprint I’ll remember for life:

“I am so perfect so divine, so ethereal, so surreal I cannot be comprehended except by my permission” — Nikki Giovanni, “Ego-Tripping”

A single image or a carefully chosen word can transport me to forgotten memories, unspoken hurts, and long-lost dreams. Poetry is the rawest form of written expression because it doesn’t just tell; a poem can transmit.

Some verses settle into my bones and refuse to leave. They abide in my heart, proclaiming their truth long after I’ve read or written them. That’s the power of poetry — it allows me to write what heals, what haunts, and what won’t let me go.

You see, I don’t always write to be understood; sometimes, I write to understand myself. To untangle the emotions, I don’t know how to explain in any other way whether it is to as Audre Lorde wrote in her poem “Poetry Is Not a Luxury”:

“give name to the nameless so it can be thought.”

Many days, I write poetry to make peace with the past or call forward the future I long to live.

Ultimately, I write what won’t let go. I write the lines that ache to be written, the truths that wake me up at night. I write the ghosts, the grief, the joy, the possibility. I write the love letters and the heartbreak. I write the tranquil moments and even the loud and…