My poetry seems like a banshee’s scream when I have to keep silent in front of everyone else.
I’ve always wondered why some of my best writing comes out of moments of extreme delusion or excruciating emotional torment. My world may be small sometimes, but it is all I have. And when lightning strikes the foundation of my heart, it takes a while to gather the energy to rebuild. In those days, weeks, and more when I feel my darkest and my smile is plastered on like a Stepford wife, I like my writings more. My poetry seems like a banshee’s scream when I have to keep silent in front of everyone else. It lets the blood out so that I don’t drown. In this I feel I don’t love to write, I need to write.
The delusion parts steps in those moments when I wake up in a cold sweat with tears choking me and the house is pitch black. I feel like an elephant is on my chest and I reach for pen and paper. I learned to keep a journal by my bed and more than one writing utensil within arm’s reach while I struggle to turn on the lamp. As the light chases the internal and external shadows I try to catch my breath and write before I forget. Those poems show my Id to me. Why is it that I can’t often write in a moment of joy or cheer? Am I doomed to be morose and vengeful?
I should try to step out of my comfort zone, but I am a coward. I’m trying to decide what’s going to go into my upcoming book. Does anyone even buy collections of poetry anymore? I pray more than just family and friends finds interest in my writings. Insecurity is the devil on my back. I hope I have the empathy to tap into the emotions around me that will help me convey more real world situations, I don’t want this book to be so self-centered. This blog is my self-centered universe. My book, I want it to appeal to a more wider base.