I got an email that said today is the anniversary of my joining an online poetry website. I've been a member 16 yrs now. I went back & read some of my old works & realized I miss being able to write. The most recent thing I wrote was six years ago, and only one. Before that, it was 8 years back to find my next most recent. I used to be fairly prolific; I've got 86 poems posted, most of which are crap (and depressing/disgustingly negative crap at that), but there are a few (maybe 10?) that are actually worthwhile, even though they're still dark.
I hit a point where I just couldn't care about writing poetry anymore. I felt that I was just repeating shit I've already done, and much less effectively than ever before, so I quit. I've tried to start again, several times, but it all seems like paper dolls with crayon-drawn faces next to museum-worthy oil paintings to me. Maybe I outgrew the medium, I don't know. Unfortunately, I didn't find a new venue towards/into which to direct my emotional energy, and now I feel stuck. This place, being a pitiful attempt at articulating feelings that, whether positive or negative, deserve to be expressed with visceral eloquence, has become a reminder of how far my skills have fallen.
I suppose when one has no inspiration, there can be no creation, yes? (I'd posted a link to a poem, but I'm having second thoughts, so I deleted it.)
11:24 p.m. - 2018-12-20
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