Good Ones Are Hard To Come By.

About a month ago, give or take a week, I got the creative urge to do something that actually turned out pretty cool.

I took all the poems I have written on this blog, a total of 5 or 6 I believe, and I combined them in to one poem. All lines completely rearranged. But they were all there. I memorized it. Recited it to myself countless times until I was overwhelmed with a sense of indescribable pride. It was magical how a handful of individual poems could come together as one and the message still made sense, ya know? They were similar in theme, yes. But not entirely. My work posted here is extremely personal, but sharing has never bothered me. When I recited the poem to myself the first time, without stumbling over a stanza or glancing at my notes, I cried. I cried because it felt so..damn..good. All the pain and unsaid damage that those poems held, it all came rushing out of me. It was in my voice and each tear that fell. Putting together that piece was a beautiful accomplishment. I shared it with a handful of trusted peers, each recitation taking roughly 5 minutes. And the response was amazing, people could hear and feel what I did and something about that was incredibly healing.

Now, I am…so stuck. It’s making me angry. I’ve lost track how many rough drafts I’ve started of spoken-word poems. None of them get finished and none of them seem to have that “spark” or ability to just start pouring out like the poem I talked about above. I love poetry. I think I’m decent at creating it. I’ve always had positive feedback. If it’s something I love and it’s something that helps me emotionally, why is it so hard? Why can’t ideas flow like I want them to? If it were up to me I’d have pieces ready to share every week whether it be for WordPress, my English teacher, or just to know I have safely expressed in a notebook. But the last thing I was genuinely happy with was a month ago. /:


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