Sometime I can best describe my mood by looking back at my old poetry and saying "Yes, this fits" or "this line fits if I apply it to a slightly different line of though than I originally intended". For me, my poetry is valuable because it helps me most of all. Here's a couple old poems from high-school that fit well.
The Pit
When I was five, or six,
my friend and I ventured into the backyard
beneath the care of a live oak tree
Shovels firm in hand
we delved into the dirt
and dug a pit deep into the ground
until we reached damp soil
He and I were friends
both five or six
both looking for something
new and strange, profound, or deep
Perhaps, back then, we wished
thinking we were trying
to reach another world
But as we were digging
I don’t believe we cared
for we were happy then
not torn between sides in our mind
Just looking ahead
or behind us to the pit
we never found answers
It filled
with water from the earth
and rain from the sky
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In such watery company
Warning sounds.
Clouds close in
To devour the sunlight whole.
What is it that falls
and makes rivers on roofs,
waterfalls by windows?
Something is caught
and burned in a flash.
Before my eyes,
I see mirrors,
shattering.
Is it dreams that fall and break?
Or do they melt
and meld with the earth?
In such watery company,
who can tell?
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Some days the difference comes by night
Some days the difference comes by night:
A subtle glow behind deep shades of blue.
Wish a star to bless you with its light.
Always, it has been, the end is right
Though most complain and wish it wasn’t true.
Some days the difference comes by night.
It may be dark, but you retain your sight;
With ease look up, and find yourself a view;
Wish a star to bless you with its light
Or take the moon and bathe yourself in white,
Else we should sleep and find we’ve missed our cue
Discovering difference came by night.
Thus wait and see, the darkest dawn is bright;
Lift yourself to dream what you can do;
Wish a star to bless you with its light.
In darkness you lose yourself in fright
That those who gain life’s happiness are few,
But know the difference comes at night
And wish upon a star for light.
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Portrait #1
A child in the cold
plays basketball
with a father
who isn’t there.
The wind skirts by him
like a stranger,
or his mother
who isn’t there
He stops to breathe the air:
cold, as is his stare
when he looks at you,
as you walk on by.
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Water Cycle
White pale feet
Resting on a board above water
Aqua
As calm as azure glass
But when I dive I feel it shatter.
I am now but a shadow
From beneath I can see
Light dripping down into hands
Into my eyes, they’re open.
Legs are kicking
I breathe in the air
Almost gasping… almost…
Gripping the solid dock
I pull myself up,
Clear water falls back into the shade
Dripping drops splash
On the tip of my spiked hair
I can see glowing orbs… they plunge
Breaking on the water below
Where my dark reflection lingers with me
Where am I?
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