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See YouTube video of Janet Kuypers reading (C) her poem I started writing this poem when from her “Partial Nudity” book release show 6/18/14 at Chicago’s the Café Gallery
video videonot yet rated

See YouTube video of Janet Kuypers reading (S) her poem I started writing this poem when from her “Partial Nudity” book release show 6/18/14 at Chicago’s the Café Gallery
video See YouTube video of the Janet Kuypers book release feature “Partial Nudity” live 6/18/14 at Chicago’s open mic the Café Gallery (this video was filmed from a Canon camera; posted on Facebook, Twitter, Linkedin, Pinterest, Instagram, and Tumblr). #janetkuypers #janetkuyperspoetryshow
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See YouTube video 5/13/17 of Janet Kuypers reading her poems
Knelt and Cried”, “Philosopher at the Blue Note” and “I Started Writing This Poem When
at Georgetown’s “Poetry Aloud(Lumix).
video videonot yet rated

See YouTube video 5/13/17 of Janet Kuypers reading her poems
Knelt and Cried”, “Philosopher at the Blue Note” and “I Started Writing This Poem When
at Georgetown’s “Poetry Aloud(Sony).

I started writing this poem when

Janet Kuypers
written 1/27/14, inspired from Vittorio Carli’s “Poem for Richard Blanco”

I started writing this poem when the umbilical cord was cut,
                                                     even though I should know better.
                                                     I was never close enough to you.
 
I started writing this poem when I scratched when I had the chicken pox.
 
I started writing this poem when I took the final swig of vodka
                                                     and reached for the bottle to pour myself another.
I started writing this poem when I found myself trying to make excuses.
I started writing this poem when I wiped the make-up off my eyelids
                                                     and wondered who I was trying to impress.
I started writing this poem when I met you, the man who rapes my sisters.
                                                     You, the man who rapes me.
 
I started writing this poem when I pulled out a fountain pen
                                                     and wrote ‘til my fountain pen ran dry.
 
I started writing this poem when the Pope gave a “thank you” to women who work
                                                     because we do more than our fair share
                                                     without fair pay, as we prove yourselves to who
                                                     over and over and over again.
 
I started writing this poem when I belched out loud, laughed too hard, swore too much
                                                     and grew up too fast.
 
I started writing this poem when I felt that feeling in my chest, right between my lungs,
                                                     like someone was pressing against the bone there,
                                                     right there, by your heart.
I started writing this poem when I looked at the clock. It was fifteen minutes
                                                     before I had to take another pill.
 
I started writing this poem when I realized that nothing changes,
                                                     and nothing stays the same.
 
I started writing this poem when you took my thoughts again,
                                                     shoved them into your mouth again
                                                     and spit them back at me again
                                                     and you told me what I already know.
 
I started writing this poem when you rolled your sultry deep voice over me
                                                     like a wave of heat on a summer afternoon.
 
I started writing this poem when I felt that breeze, hot and sticky,
                                                     hit me in just the wrong way.
 
I started writing this poem when you needed a leader, so I stepped up to the plate.
                                                     You kept asking for a big brother
                                                     and I’m here to set you straight
I started writing this poem when I knew who they were coming for.
I started writing this poem when I threw out into the open my screams, my cries for help
                                                     so much faster than I could before.
I started writing this poem when she said, when somebody eats one of you,
                                                     word gets around.
I started writing this poem when I found a method of fighting more direct,
                                                     slower, more painful, more personal.
I started writing this poem when I realized that somebody has to die for these.
I started writing this poem when the cuts into my hands dripped blood onto the street.
I started writing this poem when I’d walk down that street in the city again
                                                     and it looks look like a Quentin Tarantino movie
                                                     where everyone’s pointing guns at each other.
I started writing this poem when after years of putting the 9 mil to the line,
                                                     of knowing the base of the neck was the best place,
                                                     my only thought was: aim carefully.
I started writing this poem when the only choice we had
                                                     was to destroy ourselves.
 
I started writing this poem when I drizzled cream into my coffee,
                                                     watched it form a mushroom cloud
                                                     within that contained bomb,
                                                     when
                                                     you just died.
 
I started writing this poem when you took me into that casket with you,
                                                     where I felt the coldness of winter all around me,
                                                     and I heard them shoveling the dirt over my head.
 
I started writing this poem when I survived the blizzards, the hurricanes, the tornadoes.
                                                     
I lived through the drought; I’ve survived it all
                                                     I’ve even survived a near fatal blow
                                                     from humanity.
 
I started writing this poem when Dachau’s gas chambers worked every morning
                                                     as snow settled on ashes.
I started writing this poem when my mother died
                                                     that’s when the forest fire started
                                                     and the whole forest burned down.
 
                                                     But
I started writing this poem when I had to get closer.
                                                     Because
I started writing this poem when the Universe was always expanding
                                                     I needed to write
                                                     to fill in the ever expanding spaces.
I started writing this poem when all I could do was turn my fingers black
                                                     scouring the newspapers,
                                                     searching for the right words.
I started writing this poem when I wasn’t occupying Wall Street.
                                                     I just wanted to occupy your mind.
                                                     You see,
I started writing this poem when slamming my hands, my fingers against that keyboard
                                                     because there were too many atrocities in the world,
                                                     too many injustices that I had witnessed,
                                                     too many people who had wronged me
                                                     and I had a lot of work to do.
 
I started writing this poem when there was a spirituality behind it.
                                                     It is something I do because I must,
                                                     and I could not exist any other way.


Copyright © Janet Kuypers.

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