Courtney Whittamore

I've been participating in a musical prompt challenge over on my Instagram account .whittamore if you want to check out all the fun poems I've written inspired by some of my favorite songs! But I had to come here and share the one about my pops. The song is Blue Jeans and White T-shirts by The Gaslight Anthem. If you ever even met my Pops, you'll know why this song has him all over it.

I miss him every day. But I still carry him with me. He encouraged me in every hobby and career and phase of my life. He sat and listened to countless stories I scribbled on his legal pads. He never looked away when I wrote about the hard things. He smiled when I wrote about the good. He is the reason I have courage to share my words today. I will love him forever with the wild heart he gave me.

I love you, old man. Here's one for you.

Hear me roar.

Sometimes, a sentence is all you need to remind yourself who you are. We do not yield.

You can take the girl out of the theatre, but you most certainly can't take the theatre out of the girl.

I have always loved the golden age of theatre. Big voices from little women were a hallmark of big band numbers. I remember the first time hearing the voices of Judy Garland, Ethel Merman, Doris Day, and knowing I wanted to be just like them.

In my 20s, I was lucky to always be surrounded by artists. Every friendship was built on our mutual love of our craft. I quickly garnered the nickname Cole Porter because I could somehow turn anything into a song. I was the Anything Goes girl. And my anything was always worth listening to.

After posting the poem I shared yesterday, one of those dear friends reached out to me. She reminded me I'm still Cole Porter. Even if I set that part of me down for a while. Even if I don't feel worthy of being tied to such a legend.

So this is me, reminding myself of who I am. I took Cole Porter's lyrics and turned them into a poem. Into a love letter. Into a promise. I am the girl they called Cole Porter. And it's alright with me.

Buckle up, friends. This is a long one. But I promise the payoff is worth it.

I am one of many who has been caught up in the renaissance of

Most people have known me in my Belle era. My love of books, need for adventure, and an unwavering commitment to loving who someone is instead of how they appear to be makes that an easy connection. But there was a time Ariel was my touchstone. I wanted to be her. I wanted to be so confident in my voice that I would let it take me into another world. Into the world of my choosing. So when I watched the remake through the eyes of that little girl and the woman I had grown into at the same time, it was emotional.

Two lines stuck out to me.

This won’t cost much. Just your voice.

You shouldn’t have to give your voice up to be heard.

I knew the first one. I grew up with the first one. Ursula belts it out as she’s whipping up a spell for Ariel to capture the heart of the prince. But I heard it with the ears of a little girl. A girl who didn’t know the cost of moving through the world yet. Of dreaming bigger than her body could allow. Of settling for a life that suited everyone but her. It didn’t cost much. It just cost everything.

And that second one. You shouldn’t have to give your voice up to be heard. The moment I heard that, I was flooded with memories of how many times I stayed silent. When I was told my voice wasn’t the right tone. Or my body wasn’t the right shape. Or my face wasn’t the most luminous. Or my spirit was too big. But I also remembered every time I held my voice back out of the need for safety. For compliance. To keep the peace. But I wasn’t keeping peace. I was sacrificing myself for the wellbeing of those who didn’t even consider my place in their world. I wanted to be part of their world so bad that I have up everything I was. Everything I am. But that stops here.

Do not mistake my silence for anything other than defiance. Otherwise, you will hear me. Full voice. Echoing in homes and cars and poems and songs. I’d rather pay the price of using my voice, than giving everything to be silent.

I don't know how to remove your absence.

Happy everyone!

I used to hate the sun. Her heat makes me uncomfortable. Her intensity burns me (so very fast, lol) and her brightness is sometimes too much. But I've been thinking a lot lately that maybe I don't hate the sun. Maybe I am just unable to accept her capacity. I am the one lacking, not her. And this has been very inspiring for me.

The moon and night have always had my heart, but the vibrance and unapologetic nature of the sun is teaching me new things. We exist in her light, and yet we can not handle the full extent of her. Regardless, she still keeps us alive. Never once has she dimmed for our benefit. In reality, if she dimmed, it would hurt us.

So today, I am thankful for the sun. I honor her sacrifices. And I appreciate her warmth. Be the sun of your life. Burn as bright as possible. It's time to be the sun.

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Look how brilliantly my desperation glimmers as it scatters across the floor.

Sometimes, we don't like the view from where we are. So we try to change perspective. And sometimes that perspective doesn't work either. Do the next right thing. Get through today. Tomorrow is always coming. Tomorrow is always coming.

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In honor of the I wanted to share the beginning of the poem I shared last week, It's Time to be the Sun. A lot of the pieces I share here are part of larger works. This is Part 1 of It's Time to be the Sun.

The moon is powerful in her own right. She controls the tide. She keeps the light on. She parcels herself off and returns in full form in all her lifetimes. She is the moon. But being the moon has a cost. She shines at the mercy of the sun.

This is me learning a new trick. This is me listening to the people who love me enough to tell me hard things.
This is me getting better.
This is me appreciating my capacity and not torturing myself for it.
This is me claiming I'm an ocean.
This is me inviting you to join me because the water is fine.
This is me letting you know it's okay to leave if it's too deep for you.
This is me.
I am done breaking.

Paper hearts are meant to be torn apart
But please, don't rip mine
It's a special kind of art
To piece back together
What you always knew would break
But I'll bleed out from a thousand papercuts
Before I give up the dream
That love has to stay
Written on the page

I didn't write this with the iconic "He is not the sun. You are" quote from Grey's Anatomy in mind, but it sure does fit.

I am watering my own lawn. Tending my own garden. Loving with a grand kind of love that doesn't come around every day. And maybe, it's also time to be the sun.

Something my friends and I have been talking a lot about recently is capacity. Everyone has a limit. Everyone. But no one limit is the same. It's okay to say no. It's okay to know your garden is full. When you think about it, what a beautiful problem to have, if your life is full of blooms you intentionally planted. That sounds a lot like happiness to me.

Shoutout to my soulmate Alexandrea Lightfoot for helping me crack this one. When she finished, she said it was healing. I hope this heals something in you today.

I've been reworking this piece for a while, so I'm thankful Kat Savage threw some amazing notes my way. She helped make a good piece so much stronger. I love my people.

This one was especially important for me to get right. I have felt this way more often than I haven't lately. I get stuck in the thought trap that my love is too big. That my heart is too deep. That the way I care is a curse. But it truly is a blessing when it's received by people who can understand it. Who can understand me. See your love as a blessing. Even when it hurts.

Your heart is demanded
As payment
To make midnight love stories
Maybe come true
To make man
Maybe love you

And from my wounds, I bloom

Proof that not all poetry is based on the poet. I saw a funny meme that a guy was taking his date to Starbucks because he forgot her name 🤣🤣🤣. So, of course, I took it and made it sad. Enjoy!

And just like the sun, I also rise.

As long as I break because I decided to.

Let him have the world

Love is so much more than we realize. It's not confined to just one person, experience, or season. It's everything. If you want love, go live.

This is how I survive
This is how I thrive
Until the day I die
I will count to five

It started to storm and this poem came with the rain.

Who's this girl posting two full poems in a row? One who hopefully gives off the impression she is not Impressionable.

New full poem alert! I'm the type of girl who wonders if continents miss each other, and if the sea knows how deep it is, and if the sky gets lonely.

This is part of a piece I'm still working on, but these lines stuck with me. I am very guilty of re-writing someone's backstory to make them worthy of their place in mine. And I will probably spend a lifetime unlearning that pattern.

Fairytales don't last forever
Especially when the author grows tired
Of earasing the pain you caused
Of writing you a better backstory
Of creating the world in which
The pauper becomes a prince
The one I've dreamed of
Since I was fifteen

Watch where you step.

I am a minefield of triggers
Detonators buried so deep
By wars long past
I forgot to ask for the map
Showing where they are planted
So I just walk slanted
And hope nobody notices

We don't always get what we pay for.

I was sold forever
But I hold the leftover time
I never got to spend in my bones
My god, it's so cold
That can no longer tell
If it's the air that has become frigid
Or if it's me