Poetry and therapy

Pen Therapy

Whether you are an American teenager or Russian Immigrant Elder, you can be a poet. You may not choose to be, but trust me — It's in there! I discovered this when my own pen hit the blank page (with no creative writing background) and from years of doing poetry seminars for all ages.

Writing is a beautiful tool for healing and freeing your authentic self — particularly when we wave away the inner editor and LET GO.

Whether it's poetry or journaling, writing letters or telling stories, the presence and expression we give to our inner selves is magical. With very little guidance, you would be amazed by what comes out. It's a paradox: when you feel the words didn't come from you, then it's the real you shining through.

No matter what we face, it's the story we tell ourselves, and others, that defines our reality. It is one of the most fulfilling and empowering experiences to claim our power through the stories we can re-tell through writing. Without realizing it, we can transform from victim to hero, from lost to found.

A Force

There were times in her life when she could barely step

onto fresh cut grass, groomed to obedience. She uttered

half the truth, light winded; picked the weakest flower, afraid

to dent the pillar of life. She whispered to the moon at night, cried

alone under her sheets, face away from the ears of the world.

Her hands had just the muscle to grip onto idols who dragged

her through their lives, burned her fingers with their empty bones.

She had to stand on her own.

Her new legs thickened with strength as her soul filled the edge of her belly

with the pure taste of herself, words she never dreamed she could say

spewed into the dragon’s ear, the tame grass beneath her feet

grew savage, shot wild between her toes, blew her dress

against her hips. Her hips. She speaks from her hips. They keep

her steady in the violent twister that comes from blowing real words,

from letting her voice peck

            at the living world

                                    who knows

                                                she is alive.

The Moment

is slippery

            untamed like soft

                        sea wind

                                    wafting through

gone

            before your fingers

                        dare

                                    to grip.

The only way

            to catch it

                        is to open

                                    your palms


undress your face

            to the scent of beauty

                        and let it do

                                    what it loves to do.

drrachelglik@gmail.com

7751 Carondelet Ave., Suite 600 Clayton, MO 63105 314-341-4205