Shoulder Song

a poem from my somatic slam-style spoken word collection + audio for all subscribers

Artwork by Paige Bradley

How many of us slouch? How many of us literally and metaphorically feel the weight of the world on our shoulders?

How many of us are trying to open up, trying to fly, trying to say, It doesn’t have to be this way? Say, We can do better?

In the beginning of my healing journey I looked at different parts of my body to delve deep into the stories they held and worked to release them. Through breath, through movement, through yoga, through meditation, through poetry, and through hope.

I believe that reading, writing and sharing poetry is an act of healing. Poetry gives us access to a deep part of our being and brings it forward into the light. It creates connections and discovery and like a song, it brings us together.

Artwork by Arts Gedeos

It is my honor to share my poem “Shoulder Song” with you from my collection of somatic spoken word poems. Since spoken word poetry is meant to be heard I have included audio here for all of my subscribers. Usually, audio is only for paid subscribers, but it is what it is… a poem meant to be heard, is meant to be heard and I don’t like putting that “upgrade to paid” paywall right before a gift. However, if you are compelled to upgrade to paid after hearing this, you may do so here.

Either way, I hope this poems stirs something inspiring within you and has you asking yourself, What have my shoulder’s held?

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Shoulder Song Audio —

Shoulder Song Poem —

Shoulder Song


Her shoulders have slouched for so long 
they forgot they were born open & strong,
sang a love song. 

Now locked into ache 
forgetting to stand straight, 
radiate, 
heart. 

Don’t start - left shoulders locked over her chest
in a cold night’s cardiac arrest, festering over 

old unlicked wounds, curved 
like a tree branch growing over barbed wires
infused like liars into her lungs, 
songs unsung.

Her left shoulder wakes to an ache & a crack.
Her right shoulder hurts like a knife into back. 

She used to work at a night club, 
dirty apron, short dress, 
her life a beautiful mess, second guessing her strength
the length of her night in flight from her siren’s song. 
She longed for the day she would be the one on that stage 
instead of flipping the page quietly in her room –

This is the memory that lives in her back
the crack that became part identity, part entity
unto itself, the body’s wealth depleted, 
her heart defeated at the end of every night, 
hundreds of beer-stained tables glimmering like stalactite stones, 
she stood alone stacking table after table
like a Cinderella fable she cleaned
someone else’s mess, no mice, no pumpkin, 
no fabulous dress.

Here is comes—

She lifted that one last table with her left arm
above her head and left shoulder said, 
I can’t hold anymore, and she fell to the floor
collapsed like a rag doll in pain
and no one came to lift her, 
not even herself.

Her left shoulder became an ache and a crack.
Her right shoulder hurt like a knife into back.
And the tragedy is that she got used to it.

Shoulders, we release your ache.
Shoulders, we forgive your stupid mistakes.
Shoulders, we move you back into place.
show your face, forgive your disgrace,
take up all the heart space you need.

It wasn’t your job to take all that on, 
all that, all that on –

Shoulder blade wings, you are strong.


By Corie Feiner 

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Please do reach out to me with any questions, feedback, or reaching across space and time hellos. I always love to hear from you!

"Medicines and surgery may cure, but only reading and writing poetry can heal." – J. Arroyo