Day 1 - September 26th, 2023

Today, I started my 30-day poetry challenge. I decided to write in the morning at 10:30 a.m. (GMT+1 time) and my session lasted about 12 minutes. I wrote a short poem about transformation. I found the act of writing easy because I took a lot of what Zachary said in the classes, and that made things way easier, like changing that word in the end, turning off the editor inside me, etc.

I have been writing poetry since I was 12 years old (I am 36 now), but for the last few months I have been dealing with a lot of mental issues, such as burnout, anxiety, and depression, and I stopped working. I felt stuck, like I could not write anymore. I tried and tried, and the words would come out. English is not my first language, as I am Portuguese, but I have always loved to express myself in English. I started to think maybe the blockage was concerning the language, so I tried writing in Portuguese, but it was the same: no words would come. My inspiration had completely dried out.

So, I am taking this opportunity to try to unblock my inspiration and to write better.

Below is the poem I wrote today:

Transformation

Transformation

the unescapable redemption to new beginnings.

Metamorphosis of oneself.

Changing your skin and starting a new life.

Change.

The winds of change at your doorstep.

The seasons are changing, and

the city doesn’t look quite the same.

Transformation.

Reshape your existence.

Even in silence.

Even in loneliness.

Even in the dark.

Don’t wait for permission or

companionship.

Look ahead,

new horizons await you.

Day 2 - September 27th, 2023

Today my session lasted again for 12 minutes I started again at 10:30 a.m. I felt empty, I thought I could write anything. I hard to put some words together and I am not totally happy with the result but again I am trying not to be so judgmental and just let it go.

This is the poem I wrote today:

Inexorable Nature

They say, “what does not kill you makes you stronger”,

but that’s not entirely true.

What does not kill also weakens you.

Leaves scars on your body and soul.

Overcoming trials and tribulations causes a lot of pain.

This is not a poem of hope.

As much as I wish to show you a silver lining.

Not today.

Today I am contemplating life’s inexorable cruel nature.

One day, when you have overcome the hurdles.

And even if you emerge stronger from the fray,

Life's relentless march still claims its due.

Day 3 - September 28th, 2023

Today my session was not an easy one. I struggled with the words.

I managed to write this short poem:

Ordinary Madness

My days are vacant.

I remain in the ordinary corners of the house.

Staring at the walls caving in on me.

I am looking for me.

Did I already leave?

Was I even here?

I must have been skipping days and nights.

The light has changed.

What was there when I wasn’t looking?

My days are ordinary.

Ordinary madness.

Disconnected chaos.

Disenchanted beauty.

Day 4 - September 29th, 2023

Here's the poem I wrote today:

Melancholia

I see the happy people on the beach.
Enjoying the last days of summer
Walking nonchalantly among each other.
I am the melancholic melody that plays in silence
while they vaguely acknowledge me.
My eyes are with the waves, searching for answers in the vast sea.
But my sea is their beach.
And my melancholic moment
Is their leisure time.

Day 5 - September 30th, 2023

Here's the poem I wrote today:

Birthdays

At the end of the day,

birthdays are just birthdays.

We can drive to some place nice.

Be part of the fun.

Be entertained.

Get ourselves a cake,

colorful candles and some champagne

But these are just things.

Nothing will fill the void.

Maybe there was no void to fill.

We just created expectations

around a random day.

Day 6- October 1st, 2023

Here's the poem I wrote today:

What if life was

a light lighting up

our lonely souls

through long down paths?

But life gets darker

as we get deeper

down the road.

I hold my head

high, even though

I no longer hope

for happiness.

Day 7- October 2nd, 2023

Here's the poem I wrote today:

This is a poem that does not exist.

This is a life of sprinkles and splashes.

Empty seats. Staircases

This is the moment you cry, and no one can hear you.

You are on your own.

This poem does not exist. It hasn’t been written yet.

It’s not a work of art. I think it is a blank page, a space that is waiting to be filled with stories that have not been told.

This is a poem that does not exist. And it only lives in the depths of the souls of those who burst into silence. In the dark.

Those who go through many lives, cross deserts and sail oceans searching for new horizons.

Those who have had their dreams crushed and who live as if they exist in every corner of the universe, even though they don't exist at all.

Soraia Graca

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