I just got an email from WordPress telling me that my domain has been renewed for another year (at the cost of $18…) and felt a little guilty for how crap I have been about writing and posting.
There are, however, at least three blogs spinning around in my head. Usually when that happens, they come out as masterpieces, one after the other, so hopefully that will be the case.
I want to say a big thank you to all who came to the Resilient art show, read my poems and bought Cha’s hearts. It was an incredibly vulnerable experience to have my poems hanging on the wall like that… for all to see. I joked that it was the ‘Airing of Samara’s Dirty Laundry’ show. I had a lot of anxiety about opening myself up like that, but was met with nothing but praise.
The plan is to translate the poems, add a couple more from Greece that I didn’t show and publish the collection. I am guessing this project will take about a year or so, but I will keep you all updated.
Since the poems have been packed up I have been struggling with a little depression. As I deal with depression on a regular basis, I know that this is a minor one and I will recover quickly. I have been mourning the process of that show being finished. I spent so much time writing, editing, crying and displaying those poems that it’s left me feeling a little empty and lonely now that the show is all done.
However, feelings are fleeting. I am allowing myself to feel the feelings while trying not to allow them to master me. Growth.
Today as I sat down to start writing curriculum, I opened my journal and found a couple poems that helped inspire the Resilient show. They are all by Rupi Kaur, whom, if you haven’t read, is an amazing poet and really encouraged me in facing the fears of vulnerability. So I have decided to share three of the poems that sparked my writing in Greece. I hope you get as much out of them as I did.
is not about how many people
like your work
if your heart likes your work
if your soul likes your work
it’s about how honest
you are with yourself
must never trade honesty
they have no idea what it is like
to lose home at the risk of
never finding home again
to have your entire life
split between two lands and
become the bridge between two countries
is not waiting inside a church
or sitting above the temple’s steps
is the refugee’s breathe as she’s running
is living in the starving child’s belly
is the heartbeat of the protest
does not rest between pages
written by holy men
lives between sweaty thighs
of women’s bodies sold for money
was last seen washing a homeless man’s feet
is not as unreachable as
they’d like you to think
my god is beating inside us infinitely
until I write again