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A Poem For 2021

Every year, I write an end-of-the-year poem. I hope 2021 was good to you. At the very least, I hope it wasn't all bad. And I hope you have grown and laughed and loved and cried and been as ferociously you as is humanly possible. Happy New Year, everyone.


this year has made me feel

as if I’ve aged a decade

the older I grow the deeper I empathize

now I know why

they say oak trees grow stronger with time

we flipped the page to 2022 without blinking

I think I know more than I did last year

but I still hold fear close to my heart

I wonder how noticeable my scars are

how well I have hidden my fissures

this year felt like being alone in a room full of people

who can't understand you and won't

but no one needs constant sympathy

we are ballerinas in our own music boxes

trying to dance the madness away

smiling blandly

spinning sadly

laughing to dull our aches

2021 was a year I swallowed news by the fistful

so much of it meaningless

Kanye west, unreliable press

blue light pollution, and chronic stress

the presidents losing his mind

and half the nation denies it

children shoot children

and no one knows why

a catastrophe of homelessness

rising rent

a hot job market

a land of abundance for the 1%

August 30th

suicide bombers

heartbreak and vengeance

we learned everything feels personal

and nothing is controlled

ships float off the coast for months

gas prices soar

and laugh lines make tiny streams in my cheeks

I'm afraid to be lonely but need room to think

a poem is the best way I know to be honest

2021 was a soft thaw from my numbness

I scooped out my heart and gave it away

now it beats even harder

loves stronger and longer

there is no room for shame today or tomorrow

2021 began with gunfire and capital rage

went out with a guttural, bubbling bang

I am tired in my soul

but I know the best way through pain is motion

so I’ll plant my roots a bit deeper

stand up a bit straighter

say I love you now

instead of waiting ‘til later

2021 was a loaded shot gun

a pearl of wisdom

the year we went missing

woke up in the sun

beneath a sprawling oak tree

we are not quite as broken as all of us seem

P.S. Find my podcast/audio blog/whatever you want to call it on Spotify, buy my book, I Like It Cuz It's Pink, or follow me on Instagram. Happy New Year!


Sarah Rose

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