One listen to Dirt reveals a man constantly spilling his guts and bleeding out on record, as if he had nothing to lose any time he approached the mic. It seems as though Layne Staley never had a problem expressing such frankness with his lyrics and vocals. Alice in Chains’ masterpiece served - and still serves - as proof that being open and revealing about personal conflict can be the best form of therapy in one’s darkest moments. What finally inspired me to face the whole ordeal head-on? Dirt. As it turns out, 2022 was that someday I wrote everything that needed to be spelled out to the letter, and it was gut wrenching. Yet it was always there, and no amount of avoiding it would have changed the fact that I’d need to confront it directly someday. It’s as if I wanted to address the problem while skirting around it at the same time perhaps it was a mechanism to maintain some subtlety in my writing, or perhaps I was unwilling to confront the issue directly. For me, writing a new piece always starts with one difficult question: “how much do I want to reveal to the reader and how much do I want to leave up to interpretation?” From the time my alcoholism started to the time it (thankfully) ended, I always left a few breadcrumbs here and there about the subject in my poetry. Last month, I published one of the hardest poems I’ve ever had to pen. Review Summary: A masterpiece built on personal demons and private hells.
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