By Lucy Pham
There is a key to everything.
The key to success, the key to happiness, the key to life, you name it.
But what if, you lost it? What if one day, you woke up, and the key to your deepest secrets, was gone?
You panicked, frantically searched for just anything you could recall.
Anything.
Nothing.
You are now forced to ask yourself the age-old question.
Who am I?
Who am I without the verses, where shall I be without the imagery, what do I do now?
What happens if a poet forgets?
Will they remain a poet, trying to make sense of the world by piecing together any fragmented rhythm?
Or will they let go of what once was?
They could accept that the words they wrote would never make sense to them again. They will become a reader, consuming others’ work while attaching their own interpretation to them.
Why were you a poet in the first place? Why go the extra mile to hide behind words only you understand, why spend hours thinking of a metaphor that vaguely connects to you, why convince yourself to keep going? Because writing is your coping mechanism, you keep on going until everything makes sense.
Is it worth it, being a poet? Does all that make you a poet?
It might come back. The joy of it all, writing. You turn into a completely different person. You might be a little girl, a man, a demon, whatever you feel like. You never reside in one spot, you are constantly exploring.
What happens if a poet forgets?
I guess I’ll have to find out.
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