Every once in a long, long while, I’ll take fifteen minutes and crank out a 4-verse, 16-line poem. They come easily and quickly, unlike writing fiction. For some reason, they always have the same structure: four, 4-line verses. I usually feel satisfied after writing sixteen lines.
My poetry is just a journal entry in a ball gown; it’s my real thoughts set to a beat and rhyme scheme. I write poetry when I’m frustrated and want to express myself in a quick and meaningful way.
To me, poetry feels very indulgent – like “it’s so sweet it hurts your teeth.” I tried to minimize the cheese-factor of the poem, but I still feel corny and exposed.
I’m positing it anyways because I’m an advocate for creative self-expression, which often requires a little honesty.
Not in Love
It’s strange when no one loves you
It’s freeing to be alone?
It takes strength and it takes weakness
I feel the weakness more
I can have everyone and no one
All at once but usually not at all
They walk past and I latch on
To a dream and fall
Finding love is like two kissing bullets
It takes up a small space
How will I find it?
Will he know my face?
I find my soul in music
My daydreams offer an escape
But I’ve left a river of heartache
And I’m drowning in its wake
I think this is the beauty of poetry. You can express heavy duty sentiments metaphorically with limited words.
Good point. Sometimes the sentiment can still be too much for me, so the fun comes in with trying to hold onto some edge in the writing.