It seems like work has been taking up most of my time
the daily fight, when all I want to do is write.
I guess I
should learn to make time for what’s important,
make my own desires a predominant commitment
lest I forget, forget how to truly be alive.
Anyways, I haven’t been writing much lately. And, like an athlete who was out of commission surfing the couch for a few months I feel mentally unfit. It’s as if the words just won’t come anymore. Yes, I still get ideas. Yes, I still babble away about my opinions to anyone who is close enough to get caught in one of my rare, but deadly “introvert-trying-his-hand-at-being-an-extrovert” conversation traps. But, when I try to put my pen to paper there is a serious lack of flow. I am writer’s block incarnate, watch me…stumble for words, and then sulkily sit around exclaiming, “writing is too hard!”
Now, my brother has asked me to be the written input for the website of an Art Residency he will be managing from the new year. But before I can even start to apply myself to that, I am going to have to learn to reapply myself to writing. So without further ado, here is a poem written groggily somewhere in the waning hours of last night.
Let your mind flow-
for a moment
of this fleeting emotion
that holds you trapped
in an ocean
of routine and forced structure,
the dark days are numbered,
let yourself go.
am a perfect example
the dull masses the trample.
like a boot overhead,
do they dare to tread
It’s in need of sculpting, but at least I’m writing, and it might be enlighting,what’s the use in fighting, me? Slam poetry.