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           This being the last day of April, which is International Poetry Month, it feels appropriate to post a poem that I’ve been afraid to publish.
           This poem happened fast. So fast, in fact, that I didn’t have time not to write it.
           The inspirational flash, as exciting as it was, immediately brought me somewhere I didn’t want to go. But that’s part of the beauty and the beast of the creative process; we don’t always know where we are going to end up. We may recognize parts of the journey; or it may be a foray into completely unknown, even hostile, territory.
           This poem started from the end and worked its way to the beginning. The last line came to me first. The word unnerved me. Male ego immediately got in the way and told me that, under no circumstances, could I admit this reality to anybody. Including myself. I couldn’t even admit this to any.....thing. Including the universe. Just writing it down violated some sacred code of macho control. Forget letting another human being know it. And the world at large? Out of my fucking mind.
           The deeper the place that we create from, the greater the potential for some sort of internal upheaval. And thus, the greater potential for healing. Getting to what’s going on inside of us can be a major challenge in itself. Owning it is another step; sometimes a giant step. Awareness is always first, without which no other steps are possible. But just being aware of something is not enough. Because just being aware of something does not necessarily lead us to creation or to healing.
           Once you are aware of it, you have to own it. That means you can’t just stand there, looking at this awareness, this discovery. You have to wrap your arms around it, embrace it, get to know it. That’s owning it. That can take time. That can be a process. Or it can happen instantly.  
           When I owned this word that came from deep within me, this word that scared me to death, I opened myself up to the possibility of creating something from it. I created the possibility of healing from it. Only when I wrapped my arms around it was I able to create. Like getting pregnant, you can’t do it from across the room. You have to get up real close, wrap yourself around each other, and make love. The creation of life. The creation of art. Creation, period.


    I ache for a word


    To describe my whole experience of you

    So I go to a pace
    That I am afraid to go

    And the word I hear

    Scares me
    Excites me

    Empties me
    Inspires me

    Haunts me
    Smiles at me

    Overwhelms me
    Elates me

    The word I hear

    Makes me shake
    Until I dance

    Makes me cry
    Until I laugh

    Makes me hide
    Until I’m found

    I can not wrap myself around this word
    Than I can wrap myself around

    You are
    To me




            - Clint Piatelli, 2012


    ©2013 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.


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