*Note: Am participating in the #Write28Days (February) hosted by Anita Ojeda. Click here if you would like tp participate.
I’m experimenting with yet another form of poetry, Gogyohka
a shattered vase
on the floor
water spreading like blood
I can’t breathe
as the pieces of my heart pierce the skin
Pixabay
*Note: I’m participating in the #Write28Days (February) hosted by Anita Ojeda. Click here if you would like tp participate.
So, really, how confident are you in yourself as a writer and in your writing abilities?
Personally, I can say without hesitation that I have very little confidence in myself as a writer, and many times this lack of confidence stops me from writing.
How sad is that?
What’s holding me back? What am I really afraid of?
Fear of failure? Of what others think about my stories and poems? Fear of success?
What???
The only answers that keep coming back to me are:
I need to write. I need to tell my story-in my own way. The price is too high NOT to write.
Again, what??? These tell me nothing about what I’m afraid of.
Then, another answer rings through my head:
My writing has to be perfect. If I can’t get it just right with the first try, why bother? I’ll never be good enough anyway.
Oh…yeah…this one cuts deep. I keep going back to trying to be good at that one thing. It’s the search that never ends. It all goes back to my childhood when my (hearing) disability made me feel inferior to other normal kids (because they’d thought me strange because I spoke funny, or heard things incorrectly and they’d laugh at me, or called me “booby” when I acted clueless to what was going on around me, etc.). Or when I learned I was slowly losing my sight at the age of 21 just when I was beginning to get a feel of what I wanted for in a career, and this diagnosis shook my confidence, no, it destroyed it, and I gave up any and all aspirations.
On the other side, people who’ve known me for most if not all of my life would tell me how feisty I was when I was younger, how much harder I worked at something when the others believed I’d never be able to accomplish, and I’d do just that, how the guy who used to call me names found out one day he’d pushed me too far when I shove him against a wall with a hockey stick (he never bothered me again after that), and on and on. My own mother said I was the strongest person she’d ever known, and how I was an inspiration to her.
Now, I look at the mirror and I can’t see that girl anymore.
Where did she go?
But, the real question is:
Will she ever return? Is it possible to become that girl again?
I can’t help but to feel so lost. How did I end up being this lost? But, is that necessarily a bad thing? A quote I read some time ago came back:
I feel there is truth to this quote. I also believe that the path to re-discovering myself will be through writing; and in writing, I believe I will regain my confidence.
Pixabay Free Images
*Note: This form is called “found” and I’ve taken snippets from several of my favorite songs to create this particular poem.
is a hollow muscular organ
influenced by hard rock and heavy metal
pain
shortness of breath
You know something here just ain’t right
what about love?
Baby, don’t hurt me
don’t hurt me no more
Like a knife that cuts you the wound heals
but the scar, that scar remains
there’s nothing I can do
Total eclipse of the heart
Baby, I won’t shed a tear for you
I was such a fool
boy, I gave you all my heart and all you do is tear it up
We could have had it all,
but
this hollow heart of mine
is ringing out the song of hope
for I have
the heart of a fighter
I will survive
by gillesgrimoin on DevianArt
Is that dance slowing in the mind of man
The head of a sleeping man
My mind was going numb –
I need a place to sing, and dancing-room,
Wrecked, solitary, here –
All night I have dreamed of destruction, annihilations —-
With blood
And then I heard them lift a Box
The deathly guests had not been satisfied
*Taken from the following poems:
Waking In Winter by Sylvia Plath
God Lay Dead In Heaven by Stephen Crane
I Felt A Funeral In My Brain by Emily Dickinson
The Dance by Theodore Roethke
…you feel like a total reject?
This usually happens when we start comparing ourselves to other writers and authors.
And when we do this, ever notice how the doubts creep in, and suddenly all our writing just stop?
So my question to you is this: What do you do to combat this?
*Note: Am participating in the #Write28Days (February) hosted by Anita Ojeda. Click here if you would like tp participate.
Scared witless, he slammed the company’s truck to a full stop and watched as the radioactive sludge engulfed the town. Strangely, the first thought to come to mind was- “Dang, I suppose I should have lowered those control rods.”
*Note: Am participating in the #Write28Days (February) hosted by Anita Ojeda. Click here if you would like tp participate.
While growing up, nighttime used to be my favorite time.
I remember playing tag-in-the-dark with friends during the Wednesday’s youth group. Or, sledding down the hills behind our house- never mind the fence of stones waiting near the bottom. I remember camping in the pop-up out in our backyard-the full moon made it clear as the day.
There were nights when I used to sneak out of the house and wandered down the road, to the mighty rapids, and sat on the rocks, under the rays of the moon. The sound of the water roaring against the bedrock always reminded me that nature can be a great healer.
My imagination would come alive as soon as the sun set, and the stars revealed themselves through their shimmering glory.
But, at some point in my latter teenage years, a veil came over and hid all the beauty of the night. Without any warning, darkness crept in and I’d soon learned its name which forever changed my life.
It’s been a few decades now, and I still enjoy the night, but it’s no longer the same; not since the darkness invaded, and had grown considerably since.
I may be losing my sight, but I will always have the memories of my time spent in the night. All I need to do is close my eyes, and I’m back in the outdoors gazing up at those countless beautiful stars.
*Note: Am participating in the #Write28Days (February) hosted by Anita Ojeda. Click here if you would like tp participate.
A writer is not just a creator,
she is a builder
of kingdoms and worlds
constructing and putting together
all the pieces that make up the story
giving life
to characters, large and small
painting, sculpting
to bring each setting to
its glorious and colorful
splendor
To build, create
is every writer’s hidden power
whether she choose
to give it life, or not
lies in her hands
This post will serve two purposes: Answer the monthly question for IWSG (Insecure Writer’s Support Group), and satisfy today’s word prompt for the #Write28Days Challenge.
Let’s start with today’s word prompt for the daily blogging Challenge.
My pen
lumbers like the swan
as this sheet of paper
offers no grace in its blankness
Oh, written words, how I long for your
beauty and fullness
-please whisk me away
to a land most divine and true!
Click on the image to access this group’s official page
This month’s question: Besides writing, what other creative outlets do you have?
When I’m not writing, I enjoy creating videos of my (as well as other writers mainly poets) written works-mostly poems and microfiction. I got this idea after working with Motionpoems for three seasons (interviewing award-winning poets and filmmakers).
Click on image to learn more
I loved the idea of taking poetry and turning them into films. I got to thinking-why not do the same with mine?
By utilizing Kizoa.com, I’ve created several videos (“films”) of my own. Here’s one, for example, of a one-liner story I wrote:
Since I am a visual person who loves music, I enjoy combining images with music and then watch as my writings come to life!
