Don’t ever think you’re alone here,
We’re just trapped in different hells,
And people aren’t against you dear,
They’re just all for themselves.
There’s a scene in Shakespeare in Love (1998) when Viola (played by Gwyneth Paltrow) is sitting in her room reading through the newly completed, hand written script of Romeo and Juliet. There are tears in her eyes and she’s so engrossed in the story that she doesn’t notice her nurse coming and going or her dinner tray arriving or leaving. Granted, within the context of the movie, that script was more than a story. It was her life, written out in poetry.
That scene is me with almost any book of poems. The physical world around me falls away while beautifully arranged words lull me into a place within myself that I can’t reach any other way. A place that’s a little bit calm, a little bit sad, full of knowing smiles, reawakened memories and a quiet understanding that there, in that moment, everything is okay. I read novels to live lives I would never otherwise be able to. I read short stories and essays for different perspectives and to create a wider understanding of my own world. I read poetry for escape. Continue reading