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.