If I’m being perfectly honest, I’ve felt drained as of late. Not even drained really, I’ve just been feeling a complete and total loss of motivation. I’ll pull up a blank screen to write a blog post, to just write for me… and nothing comes of it.
So, I decided (after much procrastination) to finally put together a little compilation of what my personal scribbles look like.
I can’t remember exactly when this started, but for as long as I can remember I’ve written one of two ways.
1.) Poetry of sorts. I don’t know what qualifies a group of words to go by the title ‘poetry’, but for lack of a better term poetry is what we’ll call it. Or as I prefer to title it: “a collection of words.”
2.) Diary entries. I write in paragraphs, and just say it like it is. It’s a way to just “bleh” all your emotions out when you can’t think enough (or aren’t in the mood) to make it flowery or poetic. Which sometimes I process that way, making my words more poetic. But sometimes you just need to word vomit and this is that.
That said, I think if I ever put all of my words together, an electronic file, bound pages , handwritten and sent to a friend… however or whatever happens with them, it would be a sandwich of everything. There would be diary entries, “poems,” and everything in between. Just a collection of words, scribbles with nowhere else to go.
Currently, I’ve got over sixty different writings gathered in a file on my computer. But I still have older writings, notebooks, and even some newer bits and thoughts that have yet to be torn apart and written out.
So, sixty and counting I guess.
Some of the writings are wayyyy less than a full page long (just a few lines), while others can be four pages long. Like I said, it’s a little bit of everything.
And with that, here’s a few excerpts I took from some of the full length writings…
Title: Boxes Upon Boxes (one page)
. . . i wish i knew what the piles consisted of. i wish i knew why they’re so heavy or why they won’t leave. but they refuse to reveal themselves to me. they sit in silence as if they expect me to know their purpose. as if they’ve always been there and always will be.
and maybe they have. they look far too old, and with the amount of dust they must be. aren’t they ? why do i only notice them now ? why today do they scream their existence to me ?
they’re troubling. there’s nothing about them that is kind, welcoming, or safe.
days go by.
someone asks what i’m going to do with all of these boxes.
“boxes ? what boxes ?”
Title: A Rainy Day’s Product (two pages + written in china actually!)
the rain is falling
against the glass
of the window.
the skies are dark
gloomy with heavy clouds
keeping the sun
from those below.
the plants sway
in the blowing winds
their leaves bend
with the weight of the raindrops
my soul matches
gray and heavy
the songs play
the ones with haunting
beats and soft voices
the ones that hurt
. . .
Title: Spring Cleaning (one page)
. . . i have to let it go
it’s sitting on my chest
pacing back and forth across my mind
i shoved you out the door
but a few of your things still sit in the corners
the ones i refuse to clean
and with you i threw out everyone else
i tossed you all as far as i could
hoping to never see you again
little did i know i would see you every night
i would wake gasping
my eyes searching for your figure
lurking in the shadows
sighing when i see that you only exist in my dreams
Title: 11:51pm (five and a half pages)
. . . the man who sings these songs
he sits on the foot of my bed
his legs folded beneath him
he strums soft strings
and the shadows empty
and the demons hiss
so he strums faster, creating a melody
a mad glint appears in his eyes
his fingers become a blur
it’s almost as if he’s taunting the demons
daring them as he hums
they shriek as the darkness fades
he begins to sing
words of truth
words of darkness
words of pain and hurt
the demons can’t stand it
they run to a place we could never find
to cower until another sunless night
the man smiles
he closes his eyes and throws his head back
fingers still strumming
his mouth singing the story
of the girl who gave the boy
her heart in a jar
and the demon who sat in her room
while she slept
then i can sleep
because the man tells me
with his songs
that he used to lie awake
he used to fear the night
and the monsters that live in it’s depths
but he tells me he’s gotten better
that he’s happier now
and that it’s still scary
just not all the time
. . .
Title: The Girl of 2am (four pages)
. . . her favorite songs
play a little too loud
as her smile fades
her breaths come in deep
her fingers tap to a beat
that’s too scattered
to match the one
screaming through her speakers
she lies in bed
staring at the walls
at the ceiling
her fingers ache
her mind spins
so she sits up
grabs a still instrument
and strings her thoughts
on every note
minutes turn to hours
yet the girl continues
head tilted towards the
sounds she plays
as if she was the listener
and not the creator
sweep over it all
flow from her
and dance on the
. . .
It’s so funny, when I first started this blog, I was terrified to hit ‘publish’ on my first post. I had no followers, it wasn’t guaranteed that people would even read the words I had written. But it was still the idea of putting them out there. For anyone who stumbled across them to read, to know.
That’s kind of what I’m feeling all over again to be completely honest. The thought of hitting the ‘publish’ button on this post has me re-reading every word, wondering if I should even post it.
But everyone’s got their outlets. For me it’s writing it all out however I see fit. Maybe it’s a few words strung together that paints enough of an image to satisfy me, or sometimes it’s pages that feel like they’ve only scraped the surface of what I’m trying to convey.
Plus, there’s something about seeing other people using their outlet that is so inspiring and validating. Because, the more I think about it, I’ve never written without music playing. Or a YouTube video on in the background.
I have playlists upon playlists that I rely on. Some songs have been on them for years, others were added just the other day. Sometimes I need songs like ‘Options‘ or ‘Change‘ by NF to motivate me, pump me up, and somehow simultaneously allow me to zone in and focus solely on whatever I’m writing.
Other times I need songs like ‘Maybe A Love Song‘ by Nataly Dawn (SO PRETTY) or anything by Tom Rosenthal. Very quiet and gentle as opposed to NF, but like I’ve said a few times now, two different writing methods, two different moods … it works for me somehow.
And yes, YouTube is also a place where I find inspiration that helps me get work done. As ridiculous as that may sound. There’s quite a few people I watch often, but my newfound and most recent obsession is ‘Cheyenne Barton.’ She’s an artist and works from home. Her constant supply of sweaters and tea and all things comforting makes me like her that much more to be totally honest. There’s something about how soothing and calming her and the aesthetic of her videos are, they just let you zone out but somehow still feel motivated and inspired?? She’s amazing.
Well, I’m off to make another cup of mint tea, and have a piece of lemon bread maybe. Then I’m going to take advantage of this momentum I seem to have stumbled upon, and attempt to write another post or two for another date … we’ll see what happens though.
And with that, I will bid you farewell,
Enjoy your week!!
p.s. let me know if you’d ever be interested in me posting a full length “poem” or something on here sometime … maybe from the few i talked about in this post? lemme knowwww