Calling all the Heroes

writing-as-therapy

Today was fucking huge, and here’s why:

A Schedule has been Established.

I have scheduled Haiku and Micropoetry until Thursday, which is fantastic because it now grants a couple of days clear air between me and more content. I have everything ready to start introducing the strands of my Project, and the Patreon rewards… well, nobody has said anything bad. I’ll assume that if anybody complains, I’ll hear about it soon enough, but as (right now) I’m preaching to those already converted… they’re going to be happy.

I Feel less Guilty about the Gaming Site.

Discovered- Azeroth.png

Completely by accident, I’ve worked out a way to go back to seven day a week posting and to cover quiet days when there’s no Warcraft news. This also requires scheduling, but I’m already planning to start this on Thursday. It makes me happy because I’m not disappointing what remains a small yet loyal audience. This matters more than I realised, and having a means to keep my small yet dedicated audience interest remains important.

I Can Do This, People.

I don’t care that nobody ‘likes’ my poems. I just need to write them, one after the other, so that I can learn to trust my voice. I need to use different forms, be clever with construction and content, for my own happiness and nobody else’s. I don’t need the validation what I’m doing is popular or accessible. These are my words, in my own way, and if someone notices the multiple layers of subtlety? So be it.

I have taken a strong and confident first step and that is all that matters right now.

Poetry in Motion

Today is National Poetry Day in the UK.

So, here is a poem I wrote. because I am a writer, and however much this form scares me, when you can embrace it well, it is glorious.

==
The Internal Ache

I don’t deserve this care, yet you remain: wound around my heart; soft, quiet constriction.

A measured passion forms constant desires:
you won’t desert me, trapped in our affliction.
I search for those reciprocal beliefs, within the skeptic depths of my bruised soul.
You have arrived before an answer’s found: a promise bound, to make these two a whole.
Inevitable fate may yet be true: contradictions of myself in you.
I sense a shocking lack of fit response: I own no solid truth to reach or grasp,
but this is where I know that I should be.
You watch my struggle with the thing you ask:
to try and look within where words are caught, inside the heart so scared to answer back.
Your patience while I struggle gives me strength, a constance as I crave the words I lack.

I will always love you, but can’t say now: these words never enough to show you how.

==
Words are hard, you know.