personal, writing, Writing Intentions

Writing Problems

There’s nothing more frustrating when you’ve finally got yourself into a writing routine, the determination has never been so strong and the motivation drives you with so much force you wonder where it has been hiding all your life. And then life gets in the way and your writing goals go out of the window. Which, is what has happened to me in the past month.

Trying to juggle writing with life is exhausting and I seem to be daydreaming more about writing then I do actually writing. I’m hoping to get my act together in the next few weeks and properly plan my writing days without any distractions – hopefully nothing new pops up to hinder me, as seems to be the problem these days.

Right now, so I don’t get too down about it, I’m setting myself a few short term goals;

●Make progress on the poem I’ve been asked to do (unexpectedly by someone who hates and doesn’t understand creativity so this is a proud moment for me)

● Write small pieces of poetry down when I can and any plot details

Hopefully things will be back to normal soon for me.

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creative writing, original piece, poem, poetry, writing

I Fell From the Ground and Landed in the Sky

My minds a forgotten doll

whose seams are ready to burst

as pills pop out of cottons cracks

prolonging the pounding

my heart sleeps in a dense grave

barely ringing chimes

disintegrating with every pump

wondering how many more times

my shell’s a crumbling coffin

no room to win in restriction

dust coats vision and bones are bitten

tongue can’t click conviction

my unspoken thoughts play

in opaque black silence

too tired to collect them

too hollow to try.

Too weak to push the lid

blow memories through the gap

and cry infront of strangers

maybe give directions

to find loose pins

doubting they could find a way

to stitch up the cracks in my dolls coffin.

creative writing, original piece, poem, poetry, writing

Leading to Hope

Leaving sand behind

along with dizzy sweats

parting the waves

limbs relaxing

sinking under cold comfort

lungs aching

after sucking too much air

stars waver, wriggling blurred directions

as water knots hair

sparks so close together

sealing the gap, leading to hope

maybe lines in roads do join up

poem, poetry, writing

Monday Blues

Morning musk gasps on windows,

owls are more awake than me.

No more batteries for the alarm,

days are shorter than string.

Autumn’s leaves fall to dust as I

yearn to be born again.

Branches iced by frost beckon to me.

Let me cherish life before Winter

unclouded by Springs faith.

Envy corpses,

sentiments only torment the living.