Verses, lines and rhythm you can always put that into a tune. A poem is easily a song but a song can’t be easily poetic. You can rhyme and say that your words came from a deep place yet how deep did you go to find your own vocabulary? How deep did you really go to think this is what you needed to say? Why did you write it? Was the cause a butterfly flapping its wings only to be trapped in the smoke of a car? Was the reason a person who said no that made your heart shatter? Or was it bitter regret you wish you can redo but only have it replay over and over in your own mind?
Poetry is not just another lesson in literature, not just pretty words you can make rhyme and its more than just a song you hear in the radio. Poetry has a story to tell, a story that is directly said or in between the lines for us to guess. It lets us know the story and create it. Something about heartbreak could be something more than just angst. A story about anger can be more than its rage. There’s something there, an attraction that we can’t understand and a message we try to create.
I’ve been writing poems since I was in elementary; the first one I wrote was about the rain. It wasn’t beautiful or metaphoric all I said was that I hated the rain and I wanted to play. I made it rhyme and I said what I wanted. Through the years I looked at my poetry as a hobby, something to fill up my time or an advantage for English class. Only in high school I realized I needed poetry, I’ve written stories before but none of them made me feel the way I write poems.
When I write a story, I create something of fiction based from human experience and emotion. I put it in detail, put it with humour and try my best to follow grammar. I pour my imagination onto a page; I let myself go with whatever world I created. But I don’t let all of myself go. When I read my words I don’t think of them as my own. I know that I’ve put myself in it yet I feel like not everything is there because I can’t put it there. I feel constricted with a doubt heavier than the words I used.
Yet when I write poetry I feel a weight lifted which are any amounts of words I wish I could’ve said. My poems are pieces of me; they tell you bits and pieces of my life. They are my emotions cut down into stanzas of metaphors or allusions. I am an emotional person, a romanticist yet I see the world in a cynical manner that I don’t even understand. When I try to put all of that into a paragraph all I get are words, blank words. They are nothing but words. Then I let it all out in poetry, with no rules just exceptions. I let it all go, I free my conflicting emotions. I’ve created my own metaphoric vocabulary, said everything I wish I said and things I’ve said with better diction.
Over time it has resorted to my personal therapy. I’m mad, I write it. I’m happy, I write it. I’m confused, I write it. Yet here I am 3 weeks and haven’t written a scratch of a verse. I found myself with no muse to write. Most writers say that people who find a muse to write are plain lazy. But my muse is not of a physical aspect, my muse is emotion. Even if the emotion is not my own or someone else’s I base my poetry on human emotion hoping that my words are as raw and as real they feel.
I love the beat; I love how I can express myself through simple verses. At first it was just mere expression, creativity and imagination. I saw it as shorter ways to tell a story, a story that has so many characters hidden in each line and an end that rhymes. It was only nearing the end of my Junior Year in high school that poetry wasn’t just an expression but a whole of me. Yes I said whole of me, not just a piece.
More often than not I feel like I am making dedications rather than poems. I have entitled my on-going 2014 collection of poetry as: a long story of confusion and an introduction that never happened
And yes i have yearly collections well at the start I didn’t put dates with my compositions now I divide them by the year it was written.
- 2006-2009: Naïve schooling with optimistic lines
- 2010 – 2011: Nostalgic Innocence and Longing Insanity
- 2012: If I keep asking for a rewind or fast forward button can I have one?
- 2013: Now what?
But now it’s just numbness. Recently I’ve come to a poets block. My words are not as metaphoric as it was; there is no imagery in my stanzas… And I’m afraid. I’m afraid I’ve gotten too cynical or lost my creative poetic touch.
What do I write? Where are my verses? Where are the reasons I write? Now I feel all bottled up, stiff and confused that I cannot even write about it. I try my best but all I get is nothing. All I get are forced vocabulary hoping it sounds beautiful. Overused metaphors, too many abstract thoughts and too little feelings, they no longer tell a story.
This is poets block and I have no idea how to knock it down.