I swear, I say that I’ll write more since I have more time, but since I have more time, I find myself not writing. It’s a strange paradox, but here’s the overdue poem I promised. This piece is ironically fitting.
There are times when I hate being a writer.
I wish I could donate my gift of
so I wouldn’t have to subtly be aware of
my well-being around other people.
If I could simply exist
and breathe, seek and influence
without a second thought
of how things will fit together.
If there’s a stray symbol
or if there’s a hidden allegory
or I’m just playing with irony
or I’m making a pun
or maybe I’ll build up the exposition
so it will climax
just like a one night stand
It only lasts if you try hard enough
It’s based on your opinion
and as an artist,
all of my work is
the worst it can be
With each of my worst,
I see what could be done and saved
what could be added and colored in
and I make my absolute worst
into something bad
They tell me to try harder
but I’m not afraid of their voices.
They tell me that I can’t make a living and that I’ll starve
but I’m not afraid of their voices.
Instead, I find myself diligently echoing
and their pricks become
daggers when it flows from my pores.
And this time, there’s no shield.
Nevertheless, I am a writer.
This is an ode to artists, writers specifically. If you’re an artist whether you’re a writer or a visual artist, you know exactly what I’m talking about. There’s an nudge in our hearts to create, but people shoot us down because being an artist isn’t viewed as a real profession for some reason. Maybe it’s because all you do with art is look at it and then walk away. I beg to differ. I think art inspires and brings light to places where it lacks. I think art helps people change their perspective on the world. And I really believe that we are made to create since we were first created by an Artist.
We’ve all had our struggles as an artist. For me personally, it’s consistency. I love doing it, but keeping a routine among the busy and quick world, it’s difficult to do. To create something, you really need that atmosphere of reflective quietness and when the world is moving too fast, you get caught up in it and neglect your craft.
Further background to this piece was that I’m struggling with body image and naturally, I blamed it on myself. I just wanted to exist and not be so aware of everything around me. For example with regards to my negative body image perception, I wish I could pay no attention to the subtle hints the media is playing at us as well as the negativity I’m feeding myself. Maybe it’s part of my personality or part of my craft, but I find myself in tune with my senses. As you can imagine, it can be pretty problematic with things like body image and self-esteem. That’s what the first stanza was talking about.
In the second stanza, there’s a slight turn in the tone when it starts talking about all the literary devices. It could be taken as irony like the writer is talking about how these are so great when the writer is just tired of hearing these words repeated over and over again. It could also be taken as an appreciation like how these tools help the writing get its luster.
The third stanza connects with the previous line “just like a one night stand”. It’s purposely written ambiguously to mirror writing and a one night stand. To be honest, that’s an analogy I never thought I would make and I did it to add a different kind of dimension in the piece from my usual analogies. The next two stanzas really take a turn from the first stanza. It basically talks about how the pieces may be at their worst in the artist’s eyes, but it will be “less worse”. There is no good, but there is “not so bad”.
Finally, the last stanza directly addresses the artist naysayers. Basically it says, “You aren’t bringing me down!” This isn’t a “I will rise from their attacks.” Instead, it’s a “I’m going to absorb the negativity and use that energy to create.” And at the end, there’s a reassurance of my identity, a writer.
I hope you enjoyed this piece!
Thanks for sticking around!