Poetry emotion....

I've been told in recent years that I'm creative. I was never told that as a child. Not that my mother didn't praise me, I owe my creativity to her, but it was just not something said to me. In fact, hearing people I consider creative tell me of my so-called abilities, has actually been difficult for me. I've decided that although flattering, it's a lot of pressure. Pressure? To be called creative? Yep, pressure. You see, when when others take part in something you've created, and comment on it positively, it makes you feel self-conscious. Atleast that's how I feel. I'm not saying I don't appreciate the compliments, I do. I think sometimes I work so hard on whatever it is I'm doing just to receive compliments from certain people. So, it doesn't matter what was created, but rather who enjoys the creation.... ( Are you following me? I don't feel I'm making a whole lot of sense. Maybe not so creative in blogging tonight.)
Anyway, I have been recognized by people I love and respect for my creativity in certain areas including my cooking (Kyle's favorite), my cake decorating skills (wedding cakes in particular), my artistic abilities (my fellow educators borrow my talents regularly), and decorative arts (painting, cards, soon to be scrapbooking). But tonight, I'm going to open myself up to possible criticism and compliment. I'm sharing with you a side of me that I've only shared with 2 people ~ Kyle and my friend Yolanda, a very talented poet.
I've always enjoyed poetry. Sometimes in life your feelings are so strong that a poem is the only release. There have been 2 times in my life when the words flowed everyday for days on end, and I had to get them out in order to feel that release. The first time is when I was engaged to Kyle. I wrote lots of gooey love poems about him and how I felt and how awesome God was to bring him into my life. I hope to share some of those with you some day. But tonight, I'll share one or two from the other time period. About six months after the accident it began it flow again. The need to write still flows, though this bloggin thing has helped a lot.
So here it goes, Words...

Sometimes I can't put it into words,
Words are just words.
They name, but can't feel the agony I feel.
I could write a thousand words,
but not one could describe.
Love is such a pitiful 4-letter word
for the feeling I have for you still.
Anguish doesn't begin to tell the pain
I feel in the pit of my soul.
Gone doesn't tell the extent
of how far away you are
or that you're NEVER coming back.
I just can't put my heartache
into words.....


How am I doing?

A friend called the other day
to see how I've been.
I told her "I'm okay,"
but you know, lyin's a sin.
I'm hiding my pain from the ones
who just can't understand.
And laughing as they joke with me
about finding another man.
My life with you as it was,
still so fresh in my mind.
Yet somedays it seems that years have passed
since I held your hand in mine.
'It never gets better, just different,'
a friend of mine has said.
But how can I convince my heart,
if I can't get it through my head?