The OtherSide Poetess

I miss my words as they were.

I miss that fever, that stomach rush when a phrase launches me into a poet trance or a prose-hole.

I miss the story idea, the conjuring and calling forth of characters living and breathing and growing inside me.

I miss my inability to shut up in the swamp of misery or obsessive lust.

I miss those who inspires the best in me.

I miss focused me, creative me, tortured artist me.

Content squashes passion.
Loss of hope helps you become stagnant and I’ve always said unrequited love and misery is my muse fire.


One thought on “The OtherSide Poetess

  1. I kinda wonder wonder why you left yr intensity/yr capital B Beauty-factory & suspect the usual suspects; crisis, or necessity calls out “it’s time to sa low down or die more”, or something outside of yrself sternly warns & wakes you “That’s enough” & new directions are a must.

Honesty Above All

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s