The lull. The classic writers’ block. Until I was forced to pick up a notebook I knocked to the ground.
My blocks tend to appear when I’m in some kind of routine, stable and sure of my choices. I usually haven’t been challenged a lot mentally. That’s very much my fault. Time to clean up instead of inhaling online content like it’s oxygen. Just finished watching a playthrough of ”Detroit: Become Human” – that’s novel content for sure.
No poetry words have come my way, unfortunately.
Until my room was such a mess, I was forced to pick up a notebook that hit the ground.
Although this particular notebook has many negative reminders for me, it was my first ever Writer notebook. Gems of phrases and ideas are in there, it’s wonderful.
I put the notebook aside to read later, by my bed. Just before I turned off lights, I figured I could read. And I came across my first poem. Me breaking the glass wall. My voice becoming sentient. My voice becoming deviant.
Time to Sleep (2016)
Small voices echo
United yet divided
Needles sew colours
Into the fabric
The blanket of her mind
She has been down this street before.
Once on a cloud above chaos
Now a soul among the dead
Her mind has been whirring
This path is familiar
Among the fallen stars
She knows where she is
She has been here before
The fragments will rest here
The adventures of her mind.
Poetry and writing was how I always survived. It was how I always figured things out. I had resigned to a future. I’m awful at reading signs, but that girl was stuck in a rut. She had resigned to let go of a lot of things. I’m so glad to tell her we did not have to let go of anything. We weren’t the self-sacrificial lamb. We stayed true to me.