I wonder if it happens to all poets... if one day at some point, we all feel this way...
I've come back from Benin West Africa for a while now, and honestly, I feel like the poetry in me is no longer what defines me.
I still write from time to time, but poetry is no longer the main thing my life revolves around! It worries me... poetry is the only thing I do well, the rest of me is BECAUSE of poetry, so if I'm no longer a poet then... who am I?
I hope MsPoe comes back, I am missing her so... her freedom, her darkness, her morosity, in a strange and bizzare way, there was life in that, there was meaning. There was passion and emotion in every blue coloured poem she wrote in fury, furtively. I miss her perfectionistic ways coupled with her free spiritedness, I miss her understanding of how bleak man can be... but how bright man can also be.
I miss her revealing myself to me, I miss her truthful brutal honesty. With her I knew where I stood, even if unhappy of where that was.
She saw things as they were and appreciated it just as so, the comely and the brute...
I miss her. I miss her feminism and afroness. Black history month is here and nothing has been done to celebrate.
I've come back from Benin West Africa for a while now, and honestly, I feel like the poetry in me is no longer what defines me.
I still write from time to time, but poetry is no longer the main thing my life revolves around! It worries me... poetry is the only thing I do well, the rest of me is BECAUSE of poetry, so if I'm no longer a poet then... who am I?
I hope MsPoe comes back, I am missing her so... her freedom, her darkness, her morosity, in a strange and bizzare way, there was life in that, there was meaning. There was passion and emotion in every blue coloured poem she wrote in fury, furtively. I miss her perfectionistic ways coupled with her free spiritedness, I miss her understanding of how bleak man can be... but how bright man can also be.
I miss her revealing myself to me, I miss her truthful brutal honesty. With her I knew where I stood, even if unhappy of where that was.
She saw things as they were and appreciated it just as so, the comely and the brute...
I miss her. I miss her feminism and afroness. Black history month is here and nothing has been done to celebrate.
As autumn, (her favourite season), returns, I hope she awakens and leads me astray once more.
Leine.
Leine.
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