Piecing It Back Together

Piecing It Back Together

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sat, Aug 26, 2017
In the past year, I have fallen out of touch with my inner self and in turn everyone else. I have become dissociative, uninhibited and empty. I feel nothing aside from acute panic for having wasted so much of my time and not having accomplished anything significant. Something upsetting caused this but that hardly matters. Although I'm not entirely sure what it was, I don't care to find out anymore. If anything, I feel like I've only sunk deeper into the quicksand in trying to understand its purpose. I need to pull myself out and I'm trying to do it in part by writing poetry. The creative process is naturally very emotionally demanding and by becoming embroiled in it, I'm hoping to garner the emotions I've left to atrophy. I don't want this to be a depressing book; I don't like depressing books, and like I said, I don't want unpleasantness to be the focus of my work. I'm trying to counterpoise it by expressing healthy emotion. Most importantly, I'm trying to enjoy writing like I used to. I'm trying to piece my old self back together.
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The Wind

A collection of poems, short stories and writings. Well, essentially just poems at the moment. Variety of influences I will always be willing to disclose for specific poems. Some are darker than others (see tags for possible triggers). Please comment any thoughts. Well it seems I have poured more of myself into this book of poems than I've really expressed to any one person irl. But the masochist inside me really wants you all to read it because why not share my head with strangers? But maybe this matters. Maybe this shows something- some progression becuase some of the earliest poems are are about, or reference, self harm and I'm glad to say that's behind me. I can follow a lot of my relationship with existentialism throughout it, as well as simply my attitude towards poetry (quatrains of iambic tetrameter with abab rhyme schemes are still cool but they aren't my go-to.) So yeah, maybe writing poetry in a toilet when I'm trying to calm down from a panic attack, or better yet in the midst of having one, and putting it up on some anonymous platform means something. Because I'm still not what else does.

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