Thoughts Behind Words

Robert Frost thought ‘poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words,’
but I thought about the feelings without words, 
somehow lost along the way, 
screaming, bleeding, feeling 
without the words that would explain what the feeling was 
rolling around under my skin. 
I think about the waves those feelings come in, 
the words still lost at sea 
and I wonder what should happen once the waves hit the shore 
that is my tongue 
How should the emotion fall out of my mouth 
when the words dance, mocking me, on the horizon? 
The feelings curl up with me on the shore 
wet and cold and numb 
as I reach for them, but they do not come 
The words laugh at me when they see me still sitting there, 
curled up with my feelings on the shore 
In the dark 
Because I still feel them, I just can’t explain them 

Charles Simic thought, ‘Poetry is an orphan of silence. The words never quite equal the experience behind them,’ 
but I thought about what happened 
behind those closed doors 
when the writer held the pen to the paper
and the words were the experience. 
I think about how much of poetry is 
for the poet rather than the audience 
because the words on the paper were parts of a soul, 
a thought turned ink or led. 
The silence was always the comfort 
to the feelings behind 
the words in my head. 
I had thought that it was rational 
with how calm the dead were 
and how soft rest was 
and how peaceful the quiet 
had always felt. 
Because I had always felt that, too. 

George Shaw thought, ‘Life isn’t about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself,’ 
but I thought about how much of myself 
I had to find in the dirt 
left behind in the trails that I crossed over
in search for my own. 
I thought about how finding something 
did not mean I would keep it. 

I thought life was about learning 
to live, 
or was I simply struggling? 
It hadn’t been too long ago 
when I hadn’t wanted to live at all 
when I had no interest in taking the 
next breath 
let alone interest in taking 
the time to look into myself. 

Douglas Adams thought, ‘Life is wasted on the living,’ 
but I thought about the living 
and the lives they were leading 
and the life I was trying to live 
and I could not consider it a waste. 
I thought about the story that was 
the life I was writing, reading, wondering about 
and I could see the worth 
in the life I was living. 

I thought about the times I thought my life was a waste
and I thought about the reminders that 
it was not 
that came after. 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer thought, ‘The ultimate test of a moral society is the kind of world that it leaves to it children,’ 
but I thought about the world left to me. 
I thought about the world I 
walk the children clinging 
to me 
through 
and the adults letting go of my hands 
as I trudged through the chaos 
that was the world 
dumped in front of me. 
I thought about the God made mess 
that is the world 
and wondered at the 
morals in the society 
I had hated since my first day 
of second grade. 
I thought about the work 
I was putting in 
to clear a path for those I kept behind me 
and the way I failed miserably 
only to look back and see them 
falling far enough behind 
for me to go back and pull them through. 

I think ‘silver lining’ is actually gold 
because of how well it blends into the dark. 
I think my mental health is shredded tatters, 
burning in a fire I ignore. 
I think I gave up being a child so long ago 
I don’t remember when I ever was. 
I know I want the rest promised in Matthew 11:28. 
I know music, literature, philosophy and art 
are very loved parts of my soul. 
I know God loves me 
I just struggle to love myself. 

I think I’m paradoxical 
I think I’m meant to be that way. 
I think my name is meaningless in comparison 
to my soul and the thoughts I spilled 
onto this page, 
but it is tradition to sign art. 

--Kylie P., 9th-12th Grade