Dear K,
Uhhhhhhhhhh....... Man. I know your pain but from the opposite side. I have been, and honestly I continue to be, the old ex that reads poetry. I hope though that I'm not putting my former partner through the tortures that you're describing. Also if my former partner is reading this I would like to apologize for reading your poetry online, but I'm going to continue to do so. Also I'm proud of her for continuing to write! More on this later.
That dude that's reading your writing and thinking its about him? I'm guilty of that sin ten million times. Hopefully, he'll quiet down. I have some real questions for you though. It is very stupid that he thinks he's a better poet than you, poetry is non-competitive. It's part of being human and expressing what it means to be human. Being a person is not a competition and anyone who thinks being a person is a competition is a DOOOMED idiot. But I suppose we all have to suffer in unique ways. Still though, what a ridiculous area of life to make claims about being better or worse than in. Read that sentence out loud, I'm not sure it works written but it definitely works out loud.
How did he stifle your creativity? Perhaps a more precise wording of that question is "Can you tell me the mechanics of how he stifled your creativity?" Because I feel like I may be guilty of some parallel sin and did so obliviously. Ok, so one time I got into a really stupid fight with my most important ex about sudoku. I got really competitive about it because I was having fun and I'm good at Soduko and she was too. Sidebar she was and is smarter than me. But without noticing it I took all the fun out of the competition and turned it into a fight and when she stopped competing I got real mad. It was a strange moment for sure, but a moment that I've really learned a lot from and that I've grown from. Overall I learned from the relationship that you need to pay attention to what things are actually about and talk about them and negotiate, and a million other useful things.
Anyways, how is this guy contacting you? Is he writing comments on your posts? If so, delete them! You're a powerful strong smart lady and you have tools and weapons at your disposal. Fight! Rise up! Sing your song for all to hear! The soul is a thing that is built for combat and action and it is built to suffer and in suffering, despite suffering, bloom and blossom and rise rise rise! Poetry is the language of the soul and no soul should be denied their voice. So write in metered or unmetered verse, or as I prefer to title my poetic musings: mangled meterless malformations. Your poetry is yours and no one not God not the Devil, not St Peter or Jesus or Judas Iscariot can take them away from you. Delilah might cut your golden locks but she cannot put your heart in the Philistines' public stocks. Souls are made of fire! So burn damnit! Burn! Light your pyre! Build the fire! Let your voice be heat and light and smoke. Raise it up to God. Poetry is sacred. Poetry is yours. Poetry is every individuals' provenance and promulgation and proliferation and providence and perpetuation and predominance and propensity and prosperity and prostration and a plurality of other potent properties. Take back your god damned land and write that poetry. Write it like it is branches you want to put forth on a bonfire. Write poetry with hope. Write it without hope. Light up the winter night sky with your words. It is the duty of every literate person to write, so write. [this paragraph is the more that I promised in the first paragraph]
Some confessions: I have abandoned all sense of what a paragraph should or should not be. I've just kind of started a series of loosely collected rants in this letter, I know you'll forgive me because this epistolary of ours has always been a place where we have been free to crack our heads and hearts open and let the goo pour out, and I think it should ever remain a wild protected preserve. Free from scrutiny. Free from the jealous venom of the red pen. Free from editing or second reading or re-writing or even proper punctuation. I'm a criminal of the written word and I hope someday to reform. In the meantime I'm going to continue creating sentences that are crimes against nature and god as evidenced above.
In conclusion my dearest K. Send me a link to your poetry blog and I'll send you mine and we can read the lumps of coal that pour out the bottoms of each other's souls, and I will not judge you and you will not judge me, we'll just be, together, in poetry.
Yours for better or verse,
K.
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