In 9th grade, I got a bit of a reputation at my small Christian school because I liked boys, and I liked to kiss them. But one boy in particular filled the world with stars for a few weeks.
When he broke up with me, starlight was over. Many years later, I found out that our breakup had little to do with me, but at the time and for years after, I believed it was because of something I'd done (or been) wrong.
My grief was massive. I was carrying all this pain and whatever version of wild love a fourteen-year-old girl can experience.
I began to write poems--dreadful, derivative poems based on show tunes and Journey lyrics. He saw some of them, which is a little mortifying, but it's also satisfying to know that he must have caught some fractured glimpse of how I felt. So the pressure eased a little.
Because of this experience, I began to see poetry as a container (a glass jar, a cardboard box, a metal safe) that could hold a feeling, an image, or a moment that I could no longer bear on my own.
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