I’ve been writing a weekly blog for artists. Felt like my last one fits with what I talk about here.

Would love if you take a look. I earn based on reads there.

Here’s the first bit

Maybe it’s vanity, pride, or an issue of self-confidence, but as a creative sometimes the hardest thing is to actually create.

Maybe you are bursting with ideas big and small. There are kernels of ideas popping in your head. You prepare, thinking of different parts of it, you talk it through with such vitality, but then you go to make it and you stop in your tracks. You distract yourself. Excuses flood in, whether not having the right tools, needing to practice more, or it just not becoming that ideal vision of what you had abstractly in your mind.

Creativity is hard. It’s hard because it comes from experience and expression. Making it, it’s a piece of you. And, when you make something disingenuous, people tend to notice.

Here’s the link to the rest

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Drift Asleep

A train hustles adjacent semi trucks in the distance, the sounds bouncing softly between mountain tops.

Stars and the moon cast the only light. Huddled under a duvet, she listens to her own deep breaths as she drifts to sleep.

Her Pot of Tea

Bleached linen: she folds in violent order.
In a mumble, timid words spurt:
A comfort of natural beige.

Her voice oppresses other in spits.
Pristine. Turned straight. In place.

Conversation is argument:
What else is there?

All is done in marching steps,
With scented candles chosen
One of two, facing out.

Behind doors:
Bursts of nauseous tears,
Burning lines down her cheeks;
Legs uncontrolled collapse;
Sandpaper gulps of air.

She methodizes every action,
To prohibit reaction: self.

Filled to 99%, order is paramount,
to not spill her liquid out her lips.

When it boils, bits spatter
And raise as steam:
Undefined.

She will pour when ready,
When her tea is brewed.

Looking Back to Look Forward (79-84)

For me, it’s therapeutic to look back at old writing and remember the place I was, and remember what was behind each piece. So, back to this series or ‘Looking Back to Look Forward.’

79. Be Both

With my new job at the time, I was noting myself getting so anxious, nervous and generally lacking confidence. With that, I tend to seem rather brash and confident when I hit higher stress levels as a defense mechanism. It resulted in me seeming very certain. It made me start thinking about how appearances don’t really tell you much about what is going on with someone. At times you need to take advantage of those illusion to push forward. Beyond that, I do believe there is a tendency to want to label everything as one way or another, and I know I have quite the history of that, but there hits a point where seemingly opposites can coexist in one state. At the time, I had been listening to some podcasts where people who had found success, who I had seen as unbreakable, naturally confident beings, were saying how scared they were.

So, in other words, this piece was me giving myself permission to be afraid but still march forward, and I’d be okay.

80. City’s Simple Company

Before living where I did now, I lived in a city that was more of a town, and before that, I lived on a farm 8km out of a town that only really had at most a dozen stores. It had been about a year of living in a city at this point. And, I honestly found myself loving it. Being alone on the farm was a different alone. I would get cabin fever, where I’d end up relying on talking to trees and waiting on people to return to get me away from a feeling of isolation. Some days the isolation felt like meditation, other days it felt like you didn’t even exist in real form with having to speak out loud to position yourself in reality. Being lonely in the city, you can still walk outside and within a few blocks you can see someone. You might even just be able to look out your window and see half a dozen people. Though you can feel alone, it isn’t quite the same alone.

The type of alone in the city, I kind of cherished this idea that no one really cared what you were up to, but they existed around you. If you cried out, someone would hear you. And, it had been brought up recently to me (again), that there is a taboo aspect to men fully crying, or showing full vulnerability.

As well, this piece was honestly also just me writing about characters I made up when I was in middleschool… and I was feeling the angst of the city, and was just really loving the rain.

The rain in autumn, with coloured leaves and sweaters, it’s its own type of rain. Soaked leaves stuck to sidewalks and gutters; earlier dark, leaving the rain to absorb the lights around; and the sound of passing vehicles through the rain… I find it transporting. I believe I had found the image for this post before, and it struck me due to it matching the weather. So, I wrote about the image and my surroundings.

81. Eyes

Wow. Me actually writing poetry in a poetry looking format? I feel like I really haven’t been as often as I used to. But I do love it. There is something about breaking it apart, slowing it down, and looking closer at word choice, versus this kinda rambling mess here.

Okay, I’m still not very old per say, and wasn’t during writing this poem, but I found myself hitting a new stage of life that made me feel older. I could look back just one year and felt like I had developed and evolved beyond measure. As this poem speaks of, it felt like I had got my next pair of eyes.

With that, I had been around many people quite a bit older than me, and was drawn to how their posture and gaze was entirely different than those younger than them. They would lecture of how youth are full of hope, and how it fades. But, then I also saw a couple of my employees who were men in their forties who still had sparkle in their eyes and such a jovial nature. It was inspiring in a way. Beyond that, it expressed how you can learn more of the world and mature, but still let yourself find delight and aspects that would be considered ‘youthful.’

82. Wasp or Bee

I believe I had had a drink or two? If not, I had been drawing long enough I was feeling oddly drunk from it. Surrounded by artists, sketching, and trying to lift my spirits when I was so tired from the week… I wrote this just before my given deadline of the day. So, me in my oddly deranged state came up with this. It was just the first thing that came to my mind, the difference between wasps and bees. There was a reason I had been thinking about it, but I genuinely do not remember. It might have just been due to being around someone who kept being cruel and I couldn’t understand their reasoning.

83. Emotional Rawness – Internal Tree

Ah yes, the classic emotional breakdown. It’s weird reading this now, because I have since had a traumatic event that made me have to start seeing a psychologist. When I wrote this, I had never sought help. I would just get glimpses of realizing I had depression or anxiety because I didn’t know what they meant.

Specifically with this, I have an auto-immune disease (I would rather not specifically say which one), and when I don’t avoid the cause of it and don’t keep on the good path for it, I will end up so utterly tired, every muscle sore, exhaustion, sleeping for 12 hours per night, gut issues… the list goes on. A few days into the symptoms, I would end up in a really dark place because it brought out any mental illness into full force. This was me trying to talk through it, because it was all I really had on my mind.

84. Vigor and Grace

A random write. As noted from the last piece I spoke of, I was still having quite a time with my auto-immune disease, so it was hard to think clearly for writing, so I did one of these. I was determined to post daily, and this was all I could handle, but I also found them very therapeutic. This one seems to focus on power struggles and feeling stuck while others are seemingly distant.

Conclusion

And there is my ramble about those few. Hope you got something out of it, and weren’t too appalled by my free-writing here.

Would love for you to give them a gander if you feel like it. Maybe not pieces I am most proud of, but it’s interesting to see the difference from then and now.

Inside the Glass

Placed on a cherry wood table, a glass is chilled, a light mist gathers all around it. Some form together, weighted down the side. Water fills the glass to a centimeter from the top, and it sloshes, flinging itself up, but not quite out of the glass.

Steady, the glass sweats, but remains fairly still. Tinted, it hides its current, as sun makes its surface glimmer.

Gathering Autumn

A midnight sky sparkled, and glowed on a dark navy canvas. With a gentle purr, a wisp floated just above tree tops. Its light blue glow dipped like dew onto verdant leaves. As it scurried away, the glow faded with a delay.

Small sprites groggily awoke. Stretching and yawning, they began their rounds. Each one went to their designated plants, softly placing small blankets to let the leaves know autumn was on its way. With a calm, light bounce, the leaves informed the branches. Never really wanting them to leave, it would be weeks of calming the branches before the leaves could fall. Sometimes branches would never let go, and fell with them.

The sprites danced in the grass, kissing away the green, bidding the grass goodnight until spring. From a rich smell of fresh blades, it changed to the sweet smell of straw.

Pointing to stars with utmost gusto, the wisp told bedtime stories to grinning bears and mammals. Though they heard the same ones every year, the wisp revitalized their enthusiasm every year, forgetting little details, resulting in some mild ad lib, always bringing chuckles from the badgers. Though the squirrels just rolled their eyes as they hurriedly crammed more nuts into their burrows, determined to use every last moment.

The sprites waved flags to tell pumpkins and squash to rise from the soil. Releasing a haunting giggle into the cool air, they were delighted.

As the sun peaked out from the horizon, the wisp and sprites vanished like a mist of ghostly confetti.