Writer

ARGH. This poem has been such a wily little thing – first, distracting me during school so that I couldn’t do the homework, then dragging me away from NaNo, and all the while being such a pest and urging me to rewrite about a billion times. And, to make things worse, I have tons of other drafted/mentally drafted posts that I really want to get posted. *grinds teeth in frustration*

To sum things up with a quote, I feel like a reverse black hole of words:

“Do you ever feel,” Cath asked Nick Tuesday night, “like you’re a black hole – a reverse black hole…”
“Something that blows instead of sucks?
“Something that sucks out,” she tried to explain. “A reverse black hole of words.”
“So the world is sucking you dry,” he said, “of language.”
“Not dry. Not yet. But the words are flying out of me so fast, I don’t know where they’re coming from.”
“And maybe you’ve run through your surplus,” he said gravely, “and now they’re made of bone and blood.”
“Now they’re made of breath,” she said.

 – Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl

Anyway. I’ve recently inspired to write poetry again by the wonderful Topaz Winters – please, please, go and read some of her stuff – and I have four or so half-finished poems sitting unloved in my documents. Hopefully you’ll be seeing some of them soon, but maybe not until December.

Writer
If poetry is the truth,
then the truth is nothing but feathers scattered to the wind;
each word binds my fingers further into falsehood.
Yet I remain as I am with my weapons at the ready:
I will write.

I will write, and you will read, and we will wield our pens
like swords, in spite of
everything.

I will draw the words from the stone as Arthur drew his blade,
as no one has done before,
and if I cannot then I will still try.
I will search for the wings that will allow me to fly,
up,
off,
and
into
the sky.