I use an app called Day One for journaling and writing poetry. It’s accessible and synced on my MacBook, iPad, and phone so I can jot things down and edit poems whenever and wherever I am. Highly recommend.
Recently, I came across this poem I wrote a couple of years ago. I’m not sure what triggered it—likely insecurity around writing—but it also seems to fit with the renaissance in writing poetry that I’m experiencing.
Crossroads She could just shut up, believing she has nothing worthwhile to contribute to the collective conversation about the current news cycle (of which she rations her consumption) or politics (she dare not climb into that hot bed) or science (that seems to differ depending on who speaks the loudest) or religion (she’s no theologian, but she knows what she knows.) She has no postgraduate degree, and feels inferior much of the time, no desire to debate, nor the skill to do so. Most times, it’s easier to remain quiet and listen. She learns a lot that way. Coming from a long line of ordinary, she respects the value of simple things, and knows that quiet speaks volumes. She could just shut up, but the restlessness she brings to the start of each day tells her she still has something to say— about other important things.