Nicole Labonte

I remember days where I felt like I couldn't continue, retracing steps just to backtrack.
I remember when I was hiding away, to mask my grief trying to conceal my thoughts and fears, although they were visible upon my face.

I remember those days my strength being tested, it had been buried under the hurricane of loss and stress.
My life had felt like one constant storm, with eyes to feel like calm was coming, but the eye of the storm is just a pause in chaos to come.

I remember living in myself, in my head, self loathing and anger, shedding years of tears and madness.
Blaming the world around me, living so deeply in my mind, yet afraid to look deep within.

I remember when I found myself, a long and painful road, but the me that I knew inside, finally became the me I preferred.

I remember when my life was pain, inconsistent, dark skies and rain.

Now my life is healthy tears and
normal fears.
Laughter and smiles,
Real for infinite miles.
Finding my soul mate, my mini me, and having a loving home that I prayed so hard for.

I remember life before, I will never go back there, to that place I don't want to remember.

Nicole Labontè
xoxo

I'm at a crossroads with my writing, and unsure of what to do.
Debating on old projects, working on the sequel to my book, but struggling with where to go at this point.
I don't write enough lately to fill my page, so I don't bother. Is it writer's block?, because this feels more permanent than temporary, and I cannot find poetic words, unless to repeat myself.
I wrote to heal from trauma, but is that not continuing to live with it, instead of moving on?
So what kind of writer am I if I have lost my poetic words, I can feel them, but ability to transfer onto paper has become excessively difficult.
Sadly, I wrote for an annual writing contest that I have wanted to enter for many years, and didn't, but this year I finally did.
I'm not a sore loser, but I guess not knowing how I did, just knowing I wasn't a winner affected me more than I like to admit. Was it horrible? Was it poorly written? Was it the worst? Maybe my worst case scenario mind is too hard at work, but this is how I think.

I was ten years old when I picked up a pen and started Journaling, to which I learned many years later is the same year (1994) my biological father passed away of a massive heart attack.
I wrote and wrote for years, never sharing with anyone, just another thing my mother had shamed me for, my writing was too dark for her liking, although the darkness I felt and still sometimes feel is from her excessive judgment, her lack of encouragement.
It was just another part of me she hated, or 'she didn't understand' or my personal favourite 'I don't relate to you' so she just didn't bother to try.
A flaw in myself, that I now understand, I need to feel encouraged. A weakness that shames me, but where do I go from here?
Try to force words from my soul? Try to pretend I don't care that I failed?
I know we can't always win, I know I was probably going up against hundreds of extremely talented poets, and maybe my poetry is lacking something.
It sounds silly to say these things, but I'm being open as I always am on my page.

I like to be real, I need to be. I can't write words that are meaningless. Growing up with a parent that wears a disguise around others is confusing, never knowing how to be, who to be, something I still carry.
Even if no one reads my work or no one encourages me again, I cannot write things that are untrue, just for a few likes.
I don't write for views and praise, but sometimes it's defeating when you feel like you're losing the one thing you've been given as an out, a healthy coping mechanism. I relied on it more of my life than not, so where does that leave me now?
Sit back and wait for the words to return?
With no deadlines or events to look forward to, is there pressure to write?
Do I force myself to resume old projects I wanted to work on?
Art should never be forced, but maybe pushing myself a little harder will help my words fall into place.
Maybe it's not a simple answer, but writing this makes me feel a little less heavy.

Nicole Labontè
xoxo

***Not my Artwork***

Older but edited 🖤