“I stopped thinking about extreme grief as the sole vehicle for great art when the grief started to take people with it.” – Hanif Abdurraqib

 

I once located my creativity

In the epicenter of a profound

And unnamed pain

Of course, others assigned labels

As they are desperately want to do 

To throw one off the scent of 

A significant realization

 

They called it:

Being a worry-wart

Puberty

Depression

Anxiety

Stress

ADHD

Poverty

 

I believed the only way to make an impact

Is to lose myself in the act

Of art only

While turning my heart 

Inside out

 

When I have sat at the feet of elders

And observed mature creators

They do not continue to heave

That which does not serve

Grief and pain are crises

Worthy of being held

Through to wellness

In the name of surviving 

wizened and vine-ripened

 

I aspire to leave the baggage behind

And get on with the process

Of whistling wind 

And living into 

The art

That chooses me

As its apt vessel