Scary Risky Poetry

Lovers everywhere: write each other poetry. Then share it with one another. Sound scary? Afraid you can't write poetry? Good. That means this is a stretch. A risk. A jump off a cliff where you can't see the water. Where you have to have faith. In yourself. In each other.

Those very things are the ingredients for excitement, for newness, for discovery. Finding something out about your partner you might not know. Creating something from your heart and sharing it with someone you love. Being vulnerable. Cultivating Intimacy. Deepening connection. Love. 

From experience I can tell you that this is a beautiful practice. And it can be a prelude to some dynamite love making. When you put yourself out there for your lover, you not only show that you care, but that you're willing to put your neck on the chopping block. That you truly show up for each other. And that's very sexy. Writing poetry to each other is like the kind of risks you took with one another when you were first mutually wooing and falling in love. Those risks are necessary in the beginning, because you don't know each other, and the only way to get to know each other is to lay it out there, the best you can, and see what happens. 

Well, I maintain that those types of risks are precisely the risks you need to take with each other as your relationship matures, grows, and stabilizes. Because when you no longer take risks with each other, things start getting stale. Writing poetry to one another is one simple way to take a risk that can put some zing back into things. 

Anybody who is literate can write poetry. It just takes some courage, some willingness, and some vulnerability. It takes mutual respect and safety. And it can also build those very traits it requires, no matter how small the quantity of those qualities are in the beginning. It's a way to reconnect to each other. 

Don't make it out to be more difficult or scarier than it really is. If you have trouble opening your heart, writing poetry can be a gentle crowbar. 

I share with you a poem I wrote for a very special woman. I'm not sure if I had the opportunity to share it with her or not. But we wrote poems to each other. And it was beautiful. 

Take the risk. Bear more of yourself than you dare. And see what happens. There will be some magic there. Be available for that magic. Look for it. It's there. In the words you write. In the sharing you do. In the beats between your hearts.

For You With You By You

i wish 

for just a moment

you could crawl inside my heart 

and feel what I feel 

for you

for no other reason

than to share 

with the only other person that this matters to

a singular, unique, expression

that has never made sense

that will never make sense

even to me

unless i share it

with you

like one hand clapping

there is no meaningful sound

unless it is echoed

by that very special other

by you

 - Clint Piatelli

©2016 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.

Dynamic Duo of Dysfunction

Once again, my demons have shown up in my living room. And they've shown up screaming.

As I write this, depression is opening its mouth once more, daring me to stick my head into it. Depression also has a sidekick who's very powerful. That sidekick is Perfectionism. Sticking my head into that mouth means giving myself a break, because tonight, I made a big mistake. Maybe I'm more afraid of that mouth than depression right now.

They're a rough Dynamic Duo of Dysfuntion, that pair. Because when I make a mistake, what can lead me into depression are the horrible things I say about myself, to myself. That kind of thinking is the root of many an evil. Even after all the work I've done, all the progress I've made, it's clear I have more to do. I mean, I know that. I'll always know that. I'll always have more to do. This isn't the type of thing I'm ever going to be "done" with. Anymore than I'll ever be "done" with working out, or meditating, or enlightenment. 

The universe has given me an opportunity for my rubber to meet the road. Another test. So far, I've met every challenge, I've met every fear, head on. I have not felt fragile, until right now. Suddenly, the voices are loud, and mean, and calling for my hide. The angry mob in my head are wielding clubs, and torches, and stones. And the fucked up thing is, they think they're helping me. "This pummeling is for your own good", they chant. "This will toughen you up". Yeah. That's worked so well for me before. 

Unlovable. Unacceptable. No good. A defective model. The neural pathways of Toxic Shame vie for the fuel they need to burn themselves deeper into me. To re-establish their status. All this, triggered by a very human error. Where's my self-love when I need it most? Like, right now. 

Okay demons, let's have some tea together, once more. Open your mouths wide. Because I'm coming in. Head fuckin' first. I'm not going to bed tonight until I do. So no uncaffinated jasmine sleepy time shit for you. Load up the high octane stuff. Because you're going to need it. And bring your A Game. 'Cuz I'm bringin' mine. 

What are you trying to teach me, demons? You didn't expect that question, did you? That's because I'm done fighting with you. Someone very wise once said to me, "When you throw punches, you get punches thrown back". And I'm tired of beating myself up. All that did was bring untold tons of pain and suffering. Are you reminding me, yet again, that harsh judgment of myself, of others, impedes my healing and my growth; that such judgment is a wall to connection? A wall to love?

Are you challenging me to love myself through a mistake? In the past, I've pretty much sucked at that. Are you testing my metal? Tell me. Because I'm listening. Which is something else you haven't got used to. I've been doing that for months now, and you're still surprised by it. Get used to it. There's a lot I need to learn, yes. But this is my fuckin' house. You can trash it, burn it, violate it in every way you can imagine. And I'm still gonna ask you to sit down and have tea with me. Maybe someday you'll get used to that. It would make life easier for all of us in here.

Maybe you're letting me know you haven't gone away. That you'll never go away. Because you're a part of me. And, as great as I've felt over the past few months, I can't ever forget that. And maybe I did, just a little. Maybe I'm guilty of some hubris. And maybe you're showing me how dangerous hubris can be.

I'm leaving here in a few days. I'm leaving a place I love. I'm leaving people I love. I'm leaving work I love. There's an awful lot of sadness inside because of that. Maybe you're reminding me to show it. Maybe you're reminding me not to stuff that sadness, that pain, that loss, that grief, like I did back in November. Maybe you're teaching me that that's not me anymore. And you're giving me the chance to prove it. To the only person I need to prove it to. Me. 

The same woman who warned of throwing punches also encouraged me to "Turn poison into medicine". And I'm doing that, right now. I see the value in my mistake. I get the lessons you've come to teach me. Thank you. We'll do this again some time, I'm sure. 

Now get the fuck out. I'm going to bed.

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights (and wrongs) reserved.

39 Days At Clint University (Body Addiction part 3)

The telling of our own story can be a sacred process. Whether we Write about it, Sing about it, Talk about it, Teach about it, Paint about it, or Fuck about it - which, heads up, lovers everywhere, we do all the time, whether we know it or not.

Telling our story becomes Sacred, in any endeavor, when we consciously communicate something deep about who we are. Because, when we consciously share a piece of ourselves, we create the potential to truly connect to someone else. And in that connection, in that vulnerability, we open up the potential to heal. And we all need healing. Because we are all in pain. We all have wounds. And we all want those wounds to stop bleeding.

There's magic in getting Yourself to the page, or the canvas, or the stage; there's magic in getting it out there, in any way you choose. The Magic is that, in that process, Your Journey crystallizes itself. It becomes clearer, more real, more accessible. Not only to others, but more crucially, to yourself. In the very telling of it, you Really Get It. It might be the only way you Really Get It. The art of digging deep into yourself, of putting your journey together, of synthesizing events, feelings, relationships, and thoughts, is itself positively transformative. 

As I write about the last six months of my life, I get the gift of embodying my own Hero's Journey in a way that would never happen if I didn't choose to express it. I share my tale in the hopes that it will move others, yes; that it may inspire, motivate, enlighten, or in any way benefit another person. But I primarily do it for me. Writing about it gives me the chance to pull it apart, to look at it, to understand it, to embody it, and to glean from it that which would never be possible without the act of having to communicate it.

There are times when I literally say to me myself "What the hell happened to me?". But, instead of coming form a place of self-judgment (which is often the case when we say those words), it comes from a place of empowerment. 

In residential treatment, I was looked upon as a leader, and indeed, was one. I was working on myself as hard as I could. I was totally into it. My energy was electric, my attitude infectious. I wore my desire for growth like a second skin that you could see, touch, taste, and smell. That actually disturbed some people at first, who said to me "When I first met you, I thought to myself, 'This guy can't be for real' ". But once they got to know me, they knew how real I was. How real my desire was. They got that my passion, that my love, was indeed genuine. They let their guard down, and we connected. 

I took the work as seriously as I've taken anything in my life. It was a conscious choice, but not a difficult one. Because I was desperate; my heart, mind, body, and soul all knew that, in order to kick out the jams of my own maladaptive thinking and dysfunctional behaviors, I had to get deadly serious about it. Because if I didn't, there was a chance that I would die. Maybe not literally, but figuratively. I'd be dead on the inside. As it was, I was close enough to the Grim Reaper Within. I didn't want an official house call. 

The whole experience of reaching my bottom, pulling myself back, and powerfully connecting to a entire community, has been profound. It is living testament, at a time when I needed it most, that I could be all of myself with a community of people who didn't yet know me, and be embraced, loved, and respected for all of me. I brought it all: the bright lights, the neon glow, the shining love, the huge heart, the deep thinker, the intelligent scholar, the very playful kid, the wild dude, the rocker musician, the vulnerable teddy bear, the maverick free spirit, the flawed substance abuser, the frightened & hurting little boy, the heartbroken lover, the powerful man.

My light shined very brightly, and I shared that light. Quite a turnaround from about six weeks before, on my birthday, one of the lowest point of my life, when my light was so dim a firefly would outshine it.

For the first time in my life, I fell in love with who I am. Warts and all. So did the people I was with. And it had nothing to do with how buff I was (because I was anything but). They didn't care what I looked like. Neither did I. They cared about who I was. About what I was. They responded to what I brought to life, from the inside out. They responded to what I brought to their life. They responded to how much I loved them. It was like being in 120 intimate love relationships at once. I cared so much about these people, and I showed it. They cared so much about me, and they showed it. We showed up for each other, dozens of times a day, for 39 days. They changed my life. And I changed theirs. 

Tell me that's not the most beautiful polygamy you could imagine. 

©2017 Clint Piatelli, MuscleHeart LLC, and Red F Publishing. All rights reserved.