# 28... Confessional poetry

So, I was thinking about Confessional poetry after Group A's presentation...and I think that that is more or less my vein of writing. I make a lot of my work personal as it is easy to draw from what you have experienced, what you know. I think it is a good form of therapy for me as I tend to keep things locked inside and that is no good.

Confessional poetry, to me, is a means of purging oneself of the complications in life, the burdens of the mind that weighs one down. It helps take the weight of ones shoulders to express the pains and ills of the world through ones' writing.

In retrospect I would say a lot of the pieces I wrote this semester, whether good or bad have been pieces of confessional poetry as they conveyed quite a bit of my private experiences and feelings.

Even though I wrote Making Sense of it All as a prose poem, I believe it can fall under Confessional poetry as it unveils the feelings and experiences that I have been going through.

Here is the unedited version:

Making Sense of It All

They said, “I had to see you, to put “it” all into perspective and that I needed to get the initial shock out of the way.” They said, “Now is the time to get “it” all out.” What is this “it” I ask myself? Why do I have to get “it” out? What if I want to hold onto “it” forever? What if “it” is too much to let go?

It – Missing you, crying over you dying, fear of forgetting your face? Could “it” be my longing to hear your voice again, wanting to seek your advice, having a friend to talk to? Or is “it” the hugs that I will never have again, the words “I love you too” whispered from your mouth, your undivided attention, your unconditional love? I keep asking myself these questions as I approach the room they hold your body in. And I wonder too, how is it I am with the rest of my family yet still feel empty and all alone?

I think and I walk and I walk while I think and I say internally: I want to tell you mummy that I miss you, but I can't tell you that can I? You're no longer here. I want to tell you that I will never forget you, that you were the greatest, most beautiful person in my life, that you were my rock to stand on, my foundation. But I can't. I want to hold you close, feel your motherly love. But I can't do that. I want to tell you that I love you forever, but I can't tell you that... That all I want right now is to have you back in my life again, to say and do all these things. All I want in the world is you and me to sit next to each other, to know that our family will not be broken, even if only for one more day. But it won't happen, would it? So, I just keep walking.

Walking down the cold hallway to view your body was a heart-wrenching experience. I’ve done it many times before, but this was something different. The feeling was surreal, my body was numb, and I could not feel. I wanted to run, full of fear, but had to face you one last time.

You were not ready for viewing, but your burial was a day away. I had to see you so “it” would all make sense. I was not ready. Seeing your cold, unclothed body lying on the cold porcelain top in the cold, uninviting mortuary was bloodcurdling. I almost dropped.

Staying strong for daddy is all that kept me from bawling. The thoughts – You can’t make yourself sick, you’re now a vessel for the grandchild she wanted and will never know – echoed within me. The words – Stay strong for your siblings, they can’t see you hurting. You can’t make your pain seem as though it is worth more than theirs – ran through my head.

The day of your funeral all of us stayed strong for daddy. We made a pact with each other that we will not be broken anymore. We filed into the church, one by one behind you. We sang from our hearts, prayed with our might and did our best to eulogize you. We did not break. We did not crumble into pieces yet stood tall and proud and joined in the celebration of your life.

Now the dreaded part—the part that solidifies your absence from my world—your cremation. You laid for one last viewing in front of us mourners. You lie so peaceful and still. When the clock struck twelve you were taken away. Don’t go mummy, stay with me. You can’t leave right now. I have so much to share with you. I have so much to say.

Your casket wheeled out through the large wooden doors. Beyond the doors the crackling fire sounded, inviting your body into the life of the fire. Your body was reduced to ashes and your soul delivered unto the world. You are physically gone, but will live on in our hearts.
Good bye mummy.


Here is the one that I wrote for Group A's presentation:

Love left behind

And so it is, I'm left once again.
The fourth one now in my 10 years of relations.
But this one was different, this one I loved.

I feel a deep piercing pain within my soul.
I want to tell you the pain you've caused,
But for fear of making worst, I stay mute.

I try to internalize your every word.
Though at times it feels as if the words just pass me by.
I doubt this could be happening again, and this time by your hand.

Yet somehow I manage it.
I grit my teeth and hold tight my tongue,
For fear of letting you win by making me utter words I dare not say.

I let you finish, pack your bags and leave the documents by the door.
Once again, left alone, but not a woman scorned. I move on.
The dotted lines I sign, for I'm free.

Free from the one I once loved, who betrayed me.