The First Poem I Wrote After 20 Years: A Return to Myself

For nearly two decades, I didn't write a single poem.

Life had its demands: work, motherhood, relationships, responsibilities. Somewhere along the way, I lost touch with the part of me that once processed the world through metaphor and verse. I didn’t realize how silent my inner voice had become until everything inside me started to unravel.

It was during a season of deep emotional turmoil that I picked up a pen and a notebook again. I wasn’t trying to write anything good. I just needed to feel my way through what was happening inside me. Without planning, without pressure, I began to write. Words poured out in a way that felt both cathartic and divine, as if something beyond me was guiding the pen.

That poem became The Rescue.

It was the first poem I wrote after nearly 20 years, and it changed everything. It reminded me that writing is not just a creative outlet, it’s a way home to myself. It’s how I pray, how I process, how I piece together the shattered parts of me into something whole.

Today, I want to share that poem with you. As raw and as real as it came through.

A hole

So deep, it seems unfillable.

The dark,

The only witness to her tears and confessions of her longings

For connection.

She feels destined

To be alone,

Unloved,

Undesired,

Unable to feel the freedom of being

Known,

Understood.

Who would love her?

A girl so lost inside of herself?

Untrusting,

She built walls for protection.

Yet,

It seems that her fortified heart is also her

Prison.

Is there someone who can rescue her from herself?

From the tower built with her own hands,

Locked from the inside?

Who can she trust with the key to unlock this door

When she cannot even trust herself?

Maybe,

Maybe if someone were able to get close enough to

Pry the key clutched tightly in her hands,

They could set her free.

But the door is heavily guarded from the outside

By dragons carrying the memories of

Abandonment and neglect,

Of sinister hags and fallen princes.

These dragons, too, both protect and imprison her.

Maybe,

Maybe I am not worthy of such a fight?

She thinks as she witnesses time and again,

Knights fall or flee in an attempt to reach her.

This is her fate.

She must accept it.

Yet

It is she who holds the key.

Maybe,

Maybe she should stop waiting to be rescued

Maybe she could be brave and free herself.

The key

The key she holds in her hand was forged in

The promises of her Father.

“You, my child, are a daughter of the King.

Not meant to be a princess cowering in a tower,

But a warrior

Wielding a powerful sword

To slay the dragons that hold you prisoner.

You are wonderfully made,

Of immeasurable value,

And I am always with you.

Be brave, my daughter.

Do not be afraid.

I love you.

I created you because

I chose you.

I have a purpose for you.

I know you better than you know yourself.

I Am

All that you need.

You are never alone.”

Filled

As she remembers her Father’s words,

She turns the key,

Opens the door.

And with one brave step,

She is free.

This poem will always hold a sacred place in my heart. It was my beginning again. A whisper of hope that told me healing was possible, that maybe I was never as alone as I felt.

Writing became my ritual after that, a way to transform pain into something purposeful. If you’re reading this and carrying a heavy silence of your own, I hope this poem reminds you: there is still a key in your hand. You still have the power to turn it.

You are not alone.

With love,

Sharla