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Join Kynda Faythe with A Cuppa Creativity in the Literary Lounge - a place where writing doesn't have to suck! In today's episode, Kynda discusses how poetry/ writing pieces does not entirely describe a person, writing to work through emotions, regulate thoughts, and externalize problems and gain perspective. She includes her 'shout outs', her daily mantra, and other writing experiences.
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Join Kynda Faythe with A Cuppa Creativity in the Literary Lounge - a place where writing doesn't have to suck! In today's episode, Kynda discusses how poetry/ writing pieces does not entirely describe a person, writing to work through emotions, regulate thoughts, and externalize problems and gain perspective. She includes her 'shout outs', her daily mantra, and other writing experiences.
Listen to Episode 8: Poetry for Healing by Kynda Faythe MP3 song. Episode 8: Poetry for Healing song from Kynda Faythe is available on Audio.com. The duration of song is 25:13. This high-quality MP3 track has 534.32 kbps bitrate and was uploaded on 24 Mar 2024. Stream and download Episode 8: Poetry for Healing by Kynda Faythe for free on Audio.com – your ultimate destination for MP3 music.
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The host of the Cup of Creativity in the Literary Lounge discusses poetry and healing. They emphasize that writing is not a reflection of who you are as a person and encourage expressing a wide range of emotions. They also mention upcoming events, including a high school poetry contest and the opportunity to join their creative community. The host shares a personal poem about their experience with a brown recluse spider bite, clarifying that it is not about racism but explores philosophical questions. Welcome to the Cup of Creativity in the Literary Lounge, a place where writing doesn't have to suck. I am your host, Kinta Space, and today I kind of want to continue our conversation about poetry during the National Poetry Month, and maybe it's time to discuss poetry and healing. I think that would be extremely interesting. Yeah, healing. Let's talk about how, first off, how you're not your writing. I want to talk about the processing, you know, through emotions and stuff, through feelings, and kind of like that wide range of emotions. And then I also want to discuss that catharsis, that feeling of relief that we experience after writing. But, of course, before I dive into today's topic, let me do my, allow me to do my shout-outs. So first is the Advanced Learning Library. You can look at it at WichitaLibrary.org. It is 711 West 2nd Street in Wichita, and they are providing the AV studio that I am now recording in, so that is super, super cool. I would like to do a shout-out to Norm's Coffee. That's 613 North Main Street in Newton. They hold our P&P Writing Society. That is on the first and third Saturdays of the month, 12 to 130. We work primarily with adult writers, and then 130 to 3, we focus on our teen writers. And, of course, I also want to give a shout-out to my past, current, and my future writers. I want to thank you. Thank you for trusting me in your writing journey. I am honored that you are allowing me to come along with you, and I just want to thank you for that. And then, of course, I also want to give my pitch to my beautiful, my passion project, Faith Publishing, Inc. We're focusing on helping underrepresented voices. We want to share their stories, while we also want to build a creative community and, at the same time, create scholarships and fellowship opportunities. One thing I will say, if you are interested in this journey, you don't have to necessarily write, right? If you're just interested in this journey and about this creative culture that we're trying to make, please let me know. You can go on our website at faith, F-A-Y-T-H-E, faithpublishing.org. We're looking for people with a myriad of talents. I mean, of course, keep your eyes open and your ears open for amazing storytellers, right, and even poets. But there's also a variety of people, a variety of ways that you can help support us. We can look at people that have connections. Maybe you have that one friend who knows everybody. That would be great. Maybe that person knows how to organize, or maybe they can share their knowledge. Maybe they are, like, the best person at social media. I could definitely use your help here. Maybe they are great at organizing community events. Just send me a message. It's kinda, K-Y-N-D-A, .faith, F-A-Y-T-H-E, at faithpublishing.org. So shoot me an email. Join the crowd, right? It just takes one crazy nut and then a leader, you know, just to help show everybody else how this is going to work. Join our little adventure. I think this is going to be an amazing, amazing experience. Also, we have two events, actually, one event coming up, and the deadline is the 15th. I'm pretty sure that's going to be tomorrow. It's going to be Echoes of the Prairie. It's a statewide, it's all for the state of Kansas, a statewide high school poetry contest. Entries are due on the 15th by 4 p.m. It does not cost anything to enter your work. I would prefer 20 lines or less. It can be on any topic or any subject matter. Again, it's not going to cost you anything, and I'm probably going to offer, I'm guessing the top 10%, depending on how many, I'm expecting lots, on how many poems are being offered for the scholarship. I'm hoping I can publish the top 10%, and then, of course, we're also going to have an Editor's Choice Award. We'll have $75 of an Amazon card for the first place, $50 for the second place, and the third place will get a $25 Amazon gift card. And we're also offering to the teacher, so I'm emailing every single English teacher that I know in the state. We're offering to the teacher that has the largest amount of student entries a free copy of the anthology. So the anthology will get all together, and that will be offered on Barnes & Noble, Kindle, and then Amazon as well. So I'm really, really excited about that. Okay, let's find a little centeredness. So with our daily mantra, are we ready? Glorious. Today, I will face fear. Today, I will be brave. Today, I will struggle. Today, I will grow. Today, I will get through this. Huzzah! Please tell me that you are shaking your hands. Oh, my gosh, this is like the best thing to say to, like, your pet. You know, my fish love it. I think my students like it. Just huzzah, because you know what? You're going to conquer this. You're going to conquer the day, and we're going to be amazing. All right, listeners, let's get down to business. Let's talk about poetry and healing. It's going to be very, very subjective, but I think this is going to help an enormous amount of writers. First off, you are not your writing. I know that sounds kind of weird. So it goes along, and I repeat myself all the time, as we all know, but I think it is tied to that bravery and honesty and courage when it comes to creating, right? I think many, I would say many students, and even adults for that matter, I think everybody writes. I think everybody has ideas. I think everybody, you know, sorts through feelings, et cetera. But they also are so judgy for themselves. They're, oh, my gosh, if you read this poem, you're going to think, you know, maybe you were like the most oppressed ever in your whole entire life, and you write something, and it is dark. And you don't want to share that with anybody, because then that person is going to think that you were like that all the time. And that is not the case. Maybe you were like that at one moment of your time. That does not mean that you can't be happy, sad, or otherwise, or any other kind of emotion on the spectrum. So I just kind of want to remind you of that. It is okay to write various feelings. It doesn't have to be like rainbows and butterflies and whatever. It can be dark. You know, I always encourage my writers, if you're going to go there, go there. Don't half-ass, right? If you're going to make me cry, make me ugly cry. You know what I'm talking about? Like I want to be like where I'm holding it in and my chin is quivering, right, and my face contorts into something just hideous. That's what kind of crying. If you're going to do there, go there, right? And it goes with anything else. If you're in love with somebody, tell. Express that in that writing. Don't half-ass it, man. Don't just like put a little toe in the water. Dive in. Commit. Commit to it, right? But like I said, when you're writing something, that does not mean that that piece, you know, you are all encompassed in that piece, right? Again, I think when you are writing, you have the highest amount of bravery and vulnerability in order to create and to share. It's just this little, you know, in the timeline of your life, it's just a blurb, right? One story, one poem, one novel does not define you. It just means that you're processing and you're healing, and then I'm hoping that you feel catharsis. You feel a sense of relief when you're done writing. So I'm going to put myself out there. I'll put myself out there. I am not claiming to be the best writer, but some days, this I will tell you is one of my most healing pieces. So venture back to 2020. The whole entire world is going through a pandemic. We're at home, and as an introvert, I'm totally digging being at home. I do a lot of yard work, and I love plants, and I love books, and blah, blah, blah. And long story short, I was bitten by a brown recluse spider, and it sucked big time. And because I'm stubborn, I did not go to the doctor, because I'm like, oh, yeah, it's just a bite, no big deal, right? You know, I'm working outside. My off spray is all over me, and I didn't really think about it. But, you know, I'm working in the yard, blah, blah, blah, and I see this bump, and I'm like, it doesn't hurt. I'm like, well, that's weird. Does it have a mosquito bite? Blah, blah, blah. And, you know, like a week and a half later, it's not a mosquito bite. Like I ended up getting really, really sick and have to be on antibiotics for a couple of months, and it was, oh, my gosh, it was just disgusting and horrible and awful. So I decided to write a poem about it, and I called it Ode to a Brown Recluse. Now, I will give you a disclaimer, all right? So this poem is kind of a poem that preys on your assumptions. And, again, I'm putting that disclaimer out that I was extremely angry. I felt hate, and I think hate is an extremely strong word, and I don't necessarily know if I've, you know, experienced hatred or anger at this time like I have at anything else. And so when I decided to write this, I did a little bit of research, right? Remember I talked about how I like to go word shopping? So I went word shopping, and as funny as it is, I'm probably on some, like, Google hit list. I'm pretty, you know, I'm sure some government agency is like, what's Faith doing, right? So I started looking up hate, hate groups. I started looking at hate groups and hateful language. And, you know, because I'm like, well, there's these people that hate other people. Surely I could, you know, get some ideas off of there. So that is my disclaimer. This poem is going to sound that I am extremely racist against brown people, and I am not. I am not. Remember I'm writing about a brown recluse spider, which if you didn't know, by the way, it can give you, you know, parts of your skin die off. It's necrotic. You can die from it if you don't get it treated. So that's just giving you context, okay? So, again, I'm going to put myself out there. I'm hoping when I was writing this, I'm hoping that I can bring up some philosophical questions about racism and about hatred and actually about suffering. So keep in mind, I begin with my concept of hate, and honestly, at the end, I felt better. And I actually felt kind of sorry for the spider. I'm not even going to lie. So this is my ode to a brown recluse. I never thought of myself as a bigot. Truly, I am one of the least racist persons that you've ever encountered, but I've come to accept the fact that I do not like your kind. You elicit a disgust response. I despise your sandy brown disguise, your uniformly colored legs, and other immutable characteristics. Just return your fiddle back to the shithole that you call home, the place that is complete and a total catastrophe. Why must I house you and your other welfare recipients? Why don't you just leave? What do you have to lose? I understand that your population is becoming more widespread and that you are resilient, crawling under my doors and up my pant legs, over the walls that I construct, persisting throughout the worst conditions and coming out only when triggered by hunger, feeling trapped, or from overcrowding. But you're living in the dark. Dark, secluded corners and under cardboard boxes, and you can't even catch prey in your webs. Your off-white networks are irregular and loosely constructed. They cannot trap what you seek, but instead serve as a retreat. I understand that laziness is a trait of your kind. It is not anything that you can control, but at some point you just have to say that's enough. I don't want to just segregate your kind away from mine. I want to ban you from entering all premises. I want to bring back the death penalty and eradicate your existence from being a regional epidemic. Your venomous ideals are a chronic ulcer looking to decimate society. You inspire violence. You bring pain upon others and pose a danger to small children. You should just recuse yourself since you will never be able to assimilate. Despite how much I try to understand your abhorrent ideology and actions, I can only view you as a cabal of malevolent nightmare fodder running the world by proxy. I am not the only person to acknowledge the problem of your domestic terrorism. I am not merely spewing bigoted poison, hatred, and conspiracy theories. I am not the voice of one who tends to hide or minimize this topic. My views resonate with millions of the very fine people. Whether you like it or not, this perspective is somewhat reflective of our vicious world. Perhaps my misanthropic words are too sarcastic for your species. You cannot understand censure and demigration. I do not lack empathy. This does not predispose me to be capable of such extreme views. I continue to look on the bright side of things and find a silver lining. I manage to be open to the poor and to the misunderstood. Maybe you could be beneficial because you prey on other nuisances. Maybe your heritage isn't a punchline. Maybe I didn't have to move all those leaves. But your presence in my domain was not permitted. And my hatred of you is completely irrational. I despise the unjust consequence from the bite of an eight-legged freak. Blah. Mic drop. So that is my ode to a brown recluse. Now was I being snarky with that? Yes. An ode usually is something that shows praise. And I wanted to do the opposite, in all honesty, about that. All right, I'm going to just do a couple more, and then we're going to talk about why writing is therapeutic. My next exercise, I like to do this with a phrase, which is to say. The phrase, which is to say, essentially means, in other words. So I went to a writing workshop with several of my students. We packed up in my little SUV, and we drove halfway across the state to go work with Taylor Molley. If you don't know who he is, please look him up. He is an amazing, amazing poet. And he gave us a writing exercise that had two phrases. And the first phrase is, It is true that I am everything that I've ever touched and held in my hands. Okay, that one's good. And then another one is, which is to say. And now what's great about this, this is a poem from Krista Langford. It's called, If It Is True. She is now off and running. She is not in high school. She is an adult. I'm pretty sure she is married and living an amazing life. And I wanted to share this with you because she went there. She went there to the point where she made everybody stop at this writing workshop. And we're all kind of in awe of her bravery and her courage. But I will tell you, again, just like the ode to a brown-roofed spider makes me sound like I am racist and I am filled with hate, that's not the case. I was filled with hate and I hated those spiders for that moment. Still not fond of them, but you see what I'm saying? That is not all-encompassing of me. And so this is kind of the same thing with Krista. Krista has had a really challenging upbringing. And she found the solace in poetry to kind of help her process things. So, If It Is True by Krista Langford. If it is true that I am everything that I have ever touched and held in my hands, then I must be the sunken skin surrounding my dying mother's cheekbones. I must be the initial teardrops of heartbreak falling from my baby brother's eyes. If it is true that everything that I have touched is part of my soul, I am the burgundy blood staining the white innocence of my bathroom floor. I am the hot crack pipe laying on the kitchen table. I am the drug money that didn't come soon enough to keep the electricity on. I am the cold abandoned car sitting on Elm Street housing two children that have never felt so alone while in the company of each other. I am the tears that I refuse to let fall in public, which is to say, I am the unwanted pity that is thrust upon me every day each time I say what I am composed of aloud. The colors I wore most often as a child were black and blue, which is to say, I came from a household in which touch was always anticipated but never wanted, which is to say, I spent more time writing poetry about my dying mother than moments I spent with her. Regret is a feeling that even holy water can't wash away. Believe me, I've tried. I've masked my pain with similes and metaphors, and I've blamed my sarcastic tone on a bad sense of humor, but in all reality, I couldn't admit my own truth without breaking down my walls. It has taken me years to admit this. Seven birthdays, seven Halloweens, seven Thanksgivings, seven Christmases, six Easters to learn there's beauty in every disaster. Oh, my gosh. I don't know about you guys. That is like, wow. I will tell you, during this writing exercise, there's Taylor Molly, and he traveled with a priest, and I will not lie to you. The priest was sitting behind me, and when we were done reading this poem, he said, holy shit, she went there. I'm like, wow. If you get a priest to swear after you read a poem, I think you got some skills, right? That was so heavy, and while I'm not condoning that you have to write heavy poems about everything and that everything is negative, just write. Take down those walls and write. No? All right. I have one more poem to share with you, and then we're going to call it. We're going to call it. The next one, I focused, when I gave the prompt, I wanted them to focus on sounds and the setting. And, again, we're still talking about writing poetry to heal, right? It's how do you process all of this? How do you process all of this? So, this next one, the final poem that I'm going to read is called Spectrum Survivor. It's by Sean Blair, and he, too, graduated a long time ago. I will tell you more about it later, but here is his poem, Spectrum Survivor. I'm a veteran of a spectrum that scars many. A soldier fighting for social skills against a menace that takes them away in a battle that is never-ending. Enlisting in an infantry for the battalion of verbal etiquette, facing articulated artillery on a daily basis, dodging mortar of miscommunication, I continually pick shrapnel of sharp tones and ill-forgotten insinuations. Sickish slurs at time weaken this already maimed freedom fighter. Feeling like the only warrior in this war of words, my speech is left perforated by craters of criticism. I alone fight in this trench of my native tongue. Craters of misinterpretation are left in the battlefield of communication, repelling reinforcements with rounds of subjective meanings, preventing the siege of social acceptance. Unable to hold back, I had to retreat to the next blockade, the fear of defeat staring at me with cold judgment. I hope for normality. With that goal in mind, I reach deep from within, and for another fighting chance, once more, onto the breach, I fight. Running back into sensory saturation, I make a final push for survival, transparent to the enemy's line of sight, fighting back foes with social solitude and comforting confrontation. My enemy now eliminated an exaggerated expression, opposition obliterated. The reinforcement is running now. I stand victorious, full with the valor of verbal expression. I am triumphant against the threat of autism. Again, my apologies for my emotions. That is amazing. If you notice, there's tons of alliteration, a lot of articulated artillery. What's another good one? There's comforting confrontation, exaggerating expression, opposition obliterated. Sean did an amazing job on this. One, I felt like he described a battlefield really, really well, and then he also used all of those phrases that come along with autism. Autism is hard and wonderful at the same time because people with autism are just wired differently. It doesn't mean it's bad. It means that they're wired differently. Sometimes I think it's a superpower, but they have issues when it comes to communication. So the triumph against the threat of autism, I just wanted to just yell, hell yeah, at the end of it. So I just think, phew, wow. Which brings me to my final point, listeners, that writing can be therapeutic, right? You can work through emotions. You can actually regulate your thoughts. You can sometimes regulate your emotions. You can teach expression when you're writing poetry. Believe it or not, it can also help you sleep. So for me, a person with, like, major monkey brain, my brain does not shut off. So what I end up doing is I make a brain dump. I just write. I write everything. It makes absolutely no sense. I just write it all out until my brain is empty, and then I actually get to go to bed. And then finally, writing to heal, you can kind of externalize whatever problems that you're facing, and you kind of gain some perspective, right? So gain some perspective. Go aim for that catharsis that you're wanting to feel. Write yourself free. This is kin to faith. With a cup of creativity in a literary lounge, a place where writing doesn't have to suck, I look forward to seeing you feel better. I look forward to reading your work. Until next time. Bye.
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