vis•cer•al vĭs′ər-əl

adj. Being or arising from impulse or sudden emotion rather than from thought or deliberation: synonym: instinctive.


I'm a freshmen in high school. Third week of class sitting in teacher advisor session with people I've known personally or distantly for years. An upperclassman overhears something I've mused aloud on the topic of free speech and loudly disparages. On being called out the blood drained from my face. I could feel the spin of hypotension. My heart rate slowed and the grey crept at the edge of my vision. I mounted an argument that I forgot as soon as I voiced it. I was so revolted by his opposition to my opinion, one that I would have thought that he would support given his involvement in the school paper, that my brain literally shut off. There has been no marker of that moment until now.


I have a habit of isolating myself. I like to be alone with the shouting in my head. It's less remarkable when I don't subject others to the noise of it. In 2011 I had been off social media for two years. I had only interacted with family and coworkers. On a whim I logged in to facebook where saw a photo of a woman that I had loved deeply and had written of and for passionately. I felt the blood slip away from my brain. I can still see that photo in my mind. As I write this I can see my self in that moment. I didn't message her. I didn't tell my fiancee. Until now I've never spoken of the moment but, I wrote more and better poetry in that year than any before or after.


In 2012 I was emotionally spent. Torn asunder by my process. I met a woman. She was damaged and not for me. There was no rush of blood, but the passion was real. I wrote for her and set my life on fire. The ashes are just now settling. I turned my back on poetry by the end of that year. I've only just recently thought that I could get close to the fire again and not be consumed by the burn.

vis•cer•al vĭs′ər-əl adj. Being or arising from impulse or sudden emotion rather than from thought or deliberation: synonym: instinctive. --- I'm a freshmen in high school. Third week of class sitting in teacher advisor session with people I've known personally or distantly for years. An upperclassman overhears something I've mused aloud on the topic of free speech and loudly disparages. On being called out the blood drained from my face. I could feel the spin of hypotension. My heart rate slowed and the grey crept at the edge of my vision. I mounted an argument that I forgot as soon as I voiced it. I was so revolted by his opposition to my opinion, one that I would have thought that he would support given his involvement in the school paper, that my brain literally shut off. There has been no marker of that moment until now. --- I have a habit of isolating myself. I like to be alone with the shouting in my head. It's less remarkable when I don't subject others to the noise of it. In 2011 I had been off social media for two years. I had only interacted with family and coworkers. On a whim I logged in to facebook where saw a photo of a woman that I had loved deeply and had written of and for passionately. I felt the blood slip away from my brain. I can still see that photo in my mind. As I write this I can see my self in that moment. I didn't message her. I didn't tell my fiancee. Until now I've never spoken of the moment but, I wrote more and better poetry in that year than any before or after. --- In 2012 I was emotionally spent. Torn asunder by my process. I met a woman. She was damaged and not for me. There was no rush of blood, but the passion was real. I wrote for her and set my life on fire. The ashes are just now settling. I turned my back on poetry by the end of that year. I've only just recently thought that I could get close to the fire again and not be consumed by the burn.

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