Recycled poetry is a constraint-based literary technique in which a poet revisits, rewrites, and reimagines an earlier work—transforming its original voice, form, or meaning through the lens of time and personal growth. It is a poetic act of renewal: taking what once was and allowing it to speak again in a new way. The poet may alter the rhyme scheme, tone, or structure, or may shift perspective entirely. What remains constant is the thread of self-dialogue—the conversation between who the poet once was and who they have become.

This technique was developed as part of the poet’s broader exploration of literary constraints in what she calls her Workshop of Potential Literature. In her practice, recycled poetry serves as both a creative method and a reflective exercise, inviting transformation not just of text, but of the poet’s own understanding of identity and time.

The Mask (recycled poetry) age 50

For years, behind this plaster mask, I hid,
But I finally took it off, for it forbid
me to live as me, I hid, I lived a lie,
For now, I see the real “I”.
My flaws and imperfections,
Were once a source of rejection,
But now they’re part of who I am,
And I embrace them because I can.
I used to wear this plaster mask,
To hide the child behind the task,
Of pleasing others, losing me,
But now I’m free, I’m finally free.
No more hiding, no more lies,
No more trying to compromise,
For I am who I’m meant to be,
And that’s the only thing that’s key.
So look at me, what do you see?
I hope you see the real me,
The one that’s been there all along,
But was hidden by the plaster strong.
Now I stand before you, I am bold,
No longer scared, no longer cold,
For I have found my truest self,
And put the plaster mask on the shelf.

Plaster eyes don’t cry: Age 30

Here I hide behind this plaster mask
for fear of what you see.
I can no longer hide for the plaster is broken
showing through to the real me.
Once perfect in its deception
this false self even I believed.
I believed until challenged by a passerby.
Then the plaster cracked and I questioned,
“Who has been deceived?”
Our foundation was shaken.
Unsure of the truth and seeing a lie in front of me,
I tore this mask from my face in fear
and frustration. Now who was I to be?
I felt free.
The plaster mask lay in pieces on the floor.
Plaster eyes don’t cry but now I could cry.
I searched my mind seeking the time
the plaster mask was poured.
I questioned “Why?”
I remembered a child hiding
behind a plaster mask,
One that was discarded before our time.
That mask was made from a different cast
torn from this faceless child
also in pieces on the floor.
Plaster eyes don’t cry.
The child cried.
I searched my mind, for that was before.
Then came you.
To this faceless child a shining star.
You I loved. You looked at me. What did you see?
You saw all my imperfections. Then I knew fear.
To hide these flaws from your eyes
I cried a final tear. Plaster eyes don’t cry.
I poured this mask and shaped it to be
everything I thought you demanded of me.
Until even I believed.
I believed this mask to be me.
Who has been deceived?
The child that was before,
that faceless child that was me.
By my Mother and my Father,
that mask was poured. They that I loved.
They shaped it to be
everything they demanded of me to be.
Behind that mask, I tried to hide
until it cracked and the cracks showed through.
They saw the imperfections when I cried.
In their anger, my fear grew.
Plaster eyes don’t cry.
From the face of that child, the plaster flew
and crashed to pieces on the floor.
She felt free, that child that was me.
Now who was I to be?
Then I met you and You I loved.
You looked at me. What did you see?
Did you see the faceless child? Did you see me?
Did you see all my imperfections?
I knew fear.
I poured this mask that I believed
you wanted to see. Who has been deceived?
Once perfect in its deception
this false self is now in pieces on the floor.
I felt free. Now who was I to be? Alone?
Apart from you, I looked at me.
Without my plaster mask, what did I see?
I saw all my hopes and dreams.
No longer the faceless child, I saw me.
I searched my mind because that was then.
Then here you were again and I shed a tear.
To mask these dreams of me being me
I picked up the pieces from the floor.
For it was my fear that if I cried
I would know the anger that I knew before.
I pasted them together and tried to hide.
No.
I can hide no more.
The cracks show through. I look at me.
What do I see? I see a faceless child. I see me.
I see all my flaws and imperfections,
all my hopes and dreams.
I like what I see behind the mask. I like me.
Now you, look at me. What do you see?
See all of me because I am to be me.

The poem The Mask (recycled poetry) age 50 exemplifies the recycled poetry process. It reimagines an earlier poem written twenty years prior, titled Plaster Eyes Don’t Cry. The original, written at age thirty, is introspective, raw, and searching. It explores themes of identity, fear, parental expectation, and emotional repression—symbolized by the “plaster mask” that conceals the true self. The recurring refrain, “Plaster eyes don’t cry,” echoes throughout, underscoring the emotional numbness that comes with self-denial:

Plaster eyes don’t cry but now I could cry.
I searched my mind seeking the time the plaster mask was poured.
I questioned ‘Why?’

The earlier poem unfolds as a psychological excavation, tracing the origins of the mask to childhood and parental shaping—“By my Mother and my Father, that mask was poured.” It captures a cyclical struggle: the breaking of the mask, the brief freedom, and the fearful reconstruction of the false self. The closing lines—“I pasted them together and tried to hide. / No. / I can hide no more.”—mark a tentative awakening, yet one still haunted by fragility.

Two decades later, the recycled version transforms this inner battle into triumph. In For Years, Behind This Plaster Mask, I Hid, the poet no longer trembles before her reflection. The tone has shifted from questioning to affirmation, from wounded introspection to confident revelation:

No more hiding, no more lies,
No more trying to compromise,
For I am who I’m meant to be,
And that’s the only thing that’s key.

Where the younger self asked, “Who has been deceived?” the older voice responds with clarity and acceptance: “Now I stand before you, I am bold.” The new poem retains the metaphor of the plaster mask but recasts it as a discarded relic of survival rather than a cage of fear. The rhythmic regularity and rhyme lend the piece a lyrical cohesion that mirrors inner harmony.

This evolution exemplifies what recycled poetry achieves: it is both revision and resurrection. It honors the original work’s emotional truth while offering the wisdom that time grants. By returning to her past poems, the poet engages in dialogue with earlier versions of herself—acknowledging their pain, understanding their blindness, and completing their unfinished sentences.

Recycled poetry, therefore, is not simply an exercise in rewriting but an act of reclamation. It allows poets to:

Revisit old emotions and reinterpret them through growth.

Transform lost or unfinished works into new expressions of meaning.

Engage with their own creative and personal evolution.

Demonstrate how art, like life, can be mended, reformed, and made whole again.

Recycled poetry embodies the poetics of renewal. It turns the past into a foundation for present strength and future creation. Through the reconstruction of verse, the poet reclaims agency over her own narrative—proving that even the fragments of the self, once broken, can be reassembled into something free, authentic, and beautifully alive.