Stunting My Creativity

     Sometimes, well actually quite often, when my life gets super busy or overly full of stupid drama, I seem to get stuck. I can't write more than a line or two at a time. And those couple lines that I write... Almost never end up being finished. They are to relieve stress slightly in the moment. A few angry lines, a few sad lines, a few lines flowing from my overwhelmed brain about how I think I might fall apart. That is how it goes.


     I guess I need to just sit down and make myself write something. But forcing creativity seems, it seems so wrong to me. And yet, often my best, most creative pieces are forced out. Maybe I need to fight to write. The words hidden in the dark brought to light.


     Make me write! Fight back you stubborn words! I shall own you and tame you! I shall expose you and save you from being lost in the ebb and flow of my tumultuous mind! I will put you down on paper, I will give you substance.


     Like a ghost returned to it's body, you, oh poetic words, will live.

Sunrise

The Sun is rising over the river,
Only a pink glow gives it away,
On the water sits a single Sailboat,
Her sails are tucked away like the new day's secrets,
But her frame stands tall to welcome the morn,

The water is so smooth,
The Lady boat so still she seems trapped in time,
Only the sky,
Gently lighter,
Brighter,
Breaks the illusion,
Time has not stopped,

Yet how romantic to think,
Perhaps such a moment might be captured,
Might be treasured,
Tucked away like Her sails,
Until needed,

The pink fades,
The sun breaks the horizon.


This poem was inspired by a sunrise I got to see one morning after getting off work at 6am. Feeling exhausted, I was quite pleased to be greeted by such a lovely picture when I walked back to my dorm building. Looking out over the hills to the Hudson river, I very much enjoyed my walk. When I got back to my room, I took several minutes looking out our back window at the changing sky. It was then, 6:15 in the morning, after being up all night, that I delayed sleep for a few minutes longer to scribble out my ideas.

What I Want

Why don't you show me?
You act like you know me,
But your knowledge is phony,
Scraping the surface,
Such knowing is worthless,
If not given a purpose,


Maybe one day you'll get it,
Do I chance and risk it?
Maybe we should just forget it,
If only you would try,
I'd stop this asking why,
Believe what's in your eyes,


Did I forget to mention,
I'm dying for attention,
Make me your intention,
Show me inside your heart,
You have to play a part,
Or I'll leave you at the start,


I've been broken and frozen,
Left after proposing,
I'm sick of the posing,
Don't play if you can't win,
You're sure you can swim?
It's gonna take all in.

Rainy Day

A rainy day makes me want to write the hours away,
Pouring feelings on a page,
Tears dripping down my face, 

Losing myself to the raw emotion fighting to emerge, 

Fighting to be expressed in so simple words.

~Just a little phrase I wrote on a day like this. The weather often seems to affect or reflect my mood for the day. Rain often inspires sadness, mopey feelings, pondering thoughts, or just a suppression of emotion. Many times the rain makes me want to write. I wish I followed through on the desire more often than not.

Comments

Hello everyone.

I just wanted to let you know that I have opened up my comments to allow those who do not have an account to share their opinion too! Feedback is appreciated! I hope you enjoy my poetic ramblings.

~Rebecca

Labor Pains

I used to always write on rides like these,

Ink in hand,

Open page,

Looking out the window at the wide world,

But the world was not what I saw,

Only the images filling my mind,

I pondered and lost myself in those ideas,

Sometimes music inspired the flow,

Sometimes the hum of the car was enough,

Now the ink is neglected,

The book remains closed,

Today my raging thoughts will not see the white of the page,

They are held prisoner behind dark, shining eyes and a wall of uncertainty,

Maybe I will pick up the pen,

Hoping its feel will remind me how to empty myself,

Perhaps I will open to a new, clean page,

Hoping its emptiness will prompt me to fill it,

Taking my eyes from the window I analyze the white square,

So small,

Yet so daunting,

The pen begins to tap as I struggle,

All I see is its emptiness and I feel empty,

But I am overflowing!

I do not pour out,

Instead I feel as though stretched to contain all that is within,

Concentration seemingly out the window again,

Grey skies heighten my dreary mood,

I brood in my frustration,

I brood in my cage,

Natural as a whim,

Words crash into my mind,

I defy my problem by using it as my inspiration,

The pen moves on the page,

It is filled and complete,

A poem is born.

Heart Strings

Let your fingers be unfrozen,

Restring your instrument,

Forget the shadows and minors,

Forget the dark distortion,

Untangle the strings of your heart,

Let the song of sorrow you are singing

Be replaced by Love’s sweet strumming,

Stop wishing for a shadow,

This shadow can never satisfy,

Only the perfect tune of another’s heart

Can fill your quiet emptiness,

You allow yourself to play but a whisper,

A murmur of your potential,

What a shame!

What a waste!

Why do you deny love’s true resonance?

Why do you ignore the happy

Hum on the horizon?

Open the door,

Wind sweeping in will blow away

The tear stained pages,

They will be forgotten

For a new composure,

A new song

Written by a new soul.