How My Last Heartbreak Led Me Back To Writing Poetry

November 28, 2016  |  

Picking up the pieces after the last guy I dated ghosted me has been quite a task. I had been hurt before but not like this.

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After months of daily conversations and bond building he disappeared and I didn’t hear from him again. It was an emotionally crippling experience because I thought I had finally found someone who was worth my energy and time. He proved me wrong. I felt tricked, embarrassed and played. My friends are a great support in helping me deal with losing him but this pain hasn’t been easing as much as I would like. Feeling vulnerable one day lead to me almost contacting him. As I typed away, I stopped and decided to take those raw emotions to my journal. Instead of pouring these feelings onto the paper free-handed as I usually do, I wrote a poem. I thought my odic days had passed because I hadn’t written a poem since I was 16 years old. When I was in high school, writing poetry was my outlet but those days faded away as I dived into journalism. Now, 11 years later, my last heartbreak has lead me back to pushing my pen.

Reigniting my poetic side has helped me process the plethora of emotions I’ve been experiencing since me and the last guy I dated ended. Some days I yearn for him while other days I am filled with anger. There are times I regret giving him my number and wonder  “why me?” at my lowest points of despair. I kept all the confusion, heartache and apathy to myself, which began to wear on me. You can only cry on your friends’ shoulders but so many times before they start giving you that sigh of annoyance. I didn’t want to burden them by talking about how I was still an emotional wreck. My friends are understanding, but when I write I don’t feel the need to be understood. I can write whatever I want and be as vulnerable or angry as I need to be at that moment. I can channel that Jazmine Sullivan-like rage or Adele-style somber, and it’s okay. I’m able to keep my agony private and chip away at that animosity and anguish in a safe space.

When I get an urge to lash out at my ex or the loneliness starts to get the best of me, I grab my book of poetry to keep myself from messaging him. I go back and forth with myself about getting in touch with him because I don’t want to end up embarrassed. Why would he care about my feelings? Even if he was remorseful, would an apology suffice, considering how badly he hurt me? Would he even respond? Do I want him to know that I still think about him and miss him? As I’m writing I don’t have to worry about what he will say to me or experience an aftershock of shame moments later after I press send on a message that exposes my inner turmoil.

Though he hurt me, he is my muse, for now. He helped me get re-introduced to my more creative side, which has not only given me a new favorite pastime but a new coping skill. I look forward to coming home and putting my pain into a poetic formation. The healing process has been a slow one because the more I tried to move on from the heartache the more I wallowed in it. Poetry has not only been helping my ex lose his allure in my eyes, but I’m also releasing negative energy and dealing with my distress in an apt way.

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