The Niceness of Telling the Whole Truth

The Niceness of Telling the Whole Truth

Years ago I spent a summer writing poetry and was finally able to write something I thought was truly sweet, inspired by the beautiful musician I’d just started dating. I read it to him, thinking I’d written something usually sweet and he looked at me with a somewhat thoughtful expression and then finally asked me “Do you ever write anything… nice?”

I remember thinking “what? That is the nicest thing I can imagine writing.” I can’t find the poem right now, but I believe it was about waking up in the night, feeling the emptiness of the room and then the warmth and sweetness of being with someone you care about.

What is poetry without emptiness to contrast the with all the deep caring we do?

Here’s a line from a more recent poem I wrote: “Living with the uncertainty of love / is like cutting yourself open because you can’t stop / hoping that pure white light will pour out of your veins.” I still tend toward mixing beauty and brutality.

I have one or two purely nice piece of writing, I guess. One poem begins “I love you like if forever was a flower or vice versa.” It was something I found on page of meandering expressions I jotted down while trying to write a screenplay a few years ago. I only consider a complete poem because my sister told me it was. “You just think it needs more because it’s too nice. That is a full sentiment right there.”

“Oh,” I thought. “I guess that is true. You can just share how fully and sweet it feels to love. That could be a complete thought” I love watching myself learn obvious things.