Behind the Mask
Celeste Stanley

They told me to go home and write a poem
To tap into my anger
To tap into my feelings
As if writing poetry leads me to some natural state of healing
Of grieving
Of believing
The storm will pass over
But in truth
If writing helps the soul
I would have written my entire youth
Until words existed no longer
Until my thoughts became stronger
And in every poem and on every page
I would have jotted down every name and every age
Of all those who told me to go home and write a poem
Then I would have balled up all those poems
That contained this so-called "healing"
And threw it at those doctors
So they could feel for years what I had been feeling
To every teacher
Who wasn't a teacher but gave me the assignment
To go home and spend my days in poetic confinement
To every friend being a friend
Who instead of growing closer to me
Prescribed that I go home and turn sad songs into poetry
I would hit every supporter of my works
Who related their life to my storms
Who thought I should further help their life
By writing my pain into poem
Then I would explain to all those
Doctors, teachers, friends and poetic supporters
That even when the well runs dry
The storm just brings more water
That every word written to heal
Were just words written and wasted
Because poetry can never fully heal the soul
Or count all the tears I've tasted
Nor can poetry replace a friend who can wipe away a tear
Or say sweet words or comforting words
That beats the drums of the ear
So I won't tap into my anger or tap into my feelings
By going home and writing a poem
Because poetry only describes the pain
And the rainbow after the storm
They told me to go home and write a poem
Based on what words can provide
But behind the mask of every poetic artist
Stands a teacher, a friend, a supporter and a guide
So
Be
My
Poem