Maybe some questions shouldn't be asked because you might not like what that person has to say, or how long they will go on!!!

Well,  Anthony over at dversepoets.com  asked for it___(sorry, but had to write this for my response and get it out of the way) for us to write a poem that is influenced by certain times in your life that made you the poet you are today or how in any manner we have evolved as poets.  Gosh, I'm a poet? Probably the inclination stemmed from roots planted from before,  but by in large with the onset of mental illness in my family that began when I was 20, I went into a shell, so to speak -  first my  husband, then my son at the age of 15.  Creativity   seemed an impossible option then.  Some of you may have read a previous poem regarding this.  I apologize in advance for it's being so long...understand if one doesn't want to read it....it won't happen again.

Born with need to express ourselves,

let me count the ways -

tantrums, crayons to finger-painting,

doodling in notebooks in idle time, writing letters, 

But for years my artistic libido went,

 for the most part, unsatisfied,

and I realized I was inside

the "Snake Pit" with Jane Wyman

hearing the echoing cries within
mental hospital with antiquated procedures

I felt like a prisoner of war

Circumstances had me taking a detour 

through tunnels with little light

For a long time I felt I was leading 

the Underground Railroad or a revolution

In my family there were those 

who needed to get safely to the other side;

while the mental health system cracked

we struggled in it's wake

My creative faucet shut off when

I became their advocate,

 being wife and mother, breadwinner

Looking back to the time in my life,

when all pathways were usurped 

by forces out of my control

Random acts of disturbing behavior

led me on a bizarre journey,

took me for a scary ride

(that theirs was scarier than mine is a fact)

Voices radioed via tangled ganglia,

sent them off course, 

one crisis on the heels of another,

sapping my energy

All the love in the world doesn't change things; 

I was their support, 

and for the doctors and clinicians a guide

For 35 years and more it took all I had

to raise my daughter and maintain my own sanity

Hence, I stepped outside myself,

relied on my reserve,

focused on a different world, 

 "Living With Schizophrenia"is a good book

 and I can recommend one for bi-polar disorder.

I was engaged daily with confusion,

and a wayward minds,
learning to let go over and again;

 when the fog began to lift 

and I had done all I could

I needed time to find new footing,

with wavering polio little used legs,

Time to filter, sift through the debris,

I was vulnerable, tired;

others could not relate, understand,

 they stigmatized

No personal issues were to interfere-

rule number one for work atmosphere

Not unlike an amnesiac, I had to reclaim my life.

At times I felt I was the one

in a straitjacket most of my life...well not quite,

but as a metaphor it works just right.

Anyway, some people abandon you - 

you abandon them, too.

In an ideal world that's 

the last thing you want or need to do!  Right...

Small steps brought less stress

In 2000 I emerged as a grandmother, 

began to enjoy life again

Not healthy to be in a state of unresolved grief

Both feet were wanting to be in the same world

like before when I was 18?

Was there a place in line where

I could squeeze myself in again?

I stretched anew  

muscles of my heart and mind,

signed up for a creativity class online.

Suddenly there was much to say!

Crosswords became my obsession, 

I started to read books again

A desire to push myself further was rejuvenated

I stuck out my neck, picked up my camera, 

got excited that I was creating 

something called art.  

So I got started on the road to following my Bliss;

I started to play with pen and paper

           A fresh deep desire to write            

came from deep pockets of my soul

Words tapped free from the heart

found their way out, fit into place

my mind soared

Unnecessary guilt subsided

I wrote haiku and poems and dared to share them,

joined a poetry website (many poets juggle more) 

Gradually I poured my thoughts onto paper, 

creating something uniquely mine

I did not just get off the Mayflower

but it was as if my native language
had started to come back to me;

 after smoking a peace pipe with myself

I got out paint, brushes, sketching pad -
and pen

Hence, my poetry, stories, artwork, 

such they are, forget graduating summa cum laude,

but I could now use tools I had

not unlike Helen Keller

Today I can function
as the full person I was meant to be
Poetry empathizes

We witness in awe and record 

the nuances of the world around us 

We capture moments for art's sake - 
we write to portray and express what's deep inside 
I always hoped I would

help to raise the spirit of man 
so that others might benefit,
 describing the indescribable - 
through poetry