Summer Breeze

This music is touching, the string are prominent,

The notes rage like an undying cry.

You may hear it’s tone, but do you feel its story?

Sing like the birds on a crisp spring morning,

Wake like you have a purpose.

Pluck the string when all others are deaf to your calling,

Breathe like the summer breeze that dares to touch your skin.

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Bed of Needles

I’ll take a stand if it means you’ll see,

Despite it feeling like a bed of needles.

I’ll prove myself, if you’ll spare the time,

Although I know you won’t open your eyes.

What does it take, to wake you from your slumber?

Is it gold and riches, do you demand your luxury?

Perhaps my time can be invested elsewhere,

But we both know I’m cursed to find you.

Defining a writer

There’s nothing more painful than reading success stories, while your unfinished project remains open for the fifth year.

It’s probably best not to read into how J. K Rowling’s success came out of the blue, but I suppose there’s some inspiration to take from it. After all, if we don’t believe we can get somewhere, then there’s no point in doing anything at all.

I’m forever flicking through countless articles of what makes a writer a true writer, but in all honest, most of them are filled with over the top money making schemes that takes away what is essential in the art of writing – personality.

What is the point in trying so hard to work out the ways of the novel? What do we benefit from taking lessons on how a certain character should act? Not much, in my opinion. There’s a delicacy involved when creating your own world. It is literally taking a part of your self, and bleeding it into electronic ink so finely, that you can call it your own. Taking away the creativity and adding in structured lessons you found online, is just taking away what makes you a true writer.

Yet, there are other issues I need to face other than originality. Patience and determination is just a few amongst dozens of others. But perseverance is the most important. One day, I’ll get there, and I’m sure it will be awful and lacking of all correct structure and dialogue. But it will be mine, a part of me that I plucked out so carefully, and crafted it into something worth my own time.

As usual, I’m babbling, but I hope there some form of clarity to be found. Don’t define your stories based on what other deem useful. Write about what you want, not what you think is essential.

Sometimes

Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing,

Then there’s someone who will correct me.

Sometimes I stare into blank spaces,

Then there’s someone who changes my focus.

Sometimes I sit and day-dream too much,

Then there’s someone who tells me I’m deluded.

Sometimes I feel like this world isn’t for me,

Then there’s someone who tells me I’m damaged.

Sometimes the world tries to define you,

Then you wonder why they control you.

Nothing Feels Right

Nothing feels right,

My clothes feel like skin that shouldn’t be there.

The air feels intrusive like microscopic invaders,

Nothing feels right.

I don’t want to open my eyes and see my life broken into hours,

Nor do I want to fall asleep and enter a new world with the same horrors.

Today is a new day, only with added memories,

And even those don’t feel like my own.