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moonchild
 lover.friend.daughter.sister.jewelry designer. student of life.creative.writer.cancer. native new yorker.residing in new jersey. Instagram
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So basically in middle school and high school I wrote poetry and drew like I honestly had no life. It consumed about 80% of my time. However, with senior year in high school came change and that change meant a number of different things, one being the loss of my interest in writing poetry and focusing on my craft. As of late, I've been contemplating getting back into the art form -- I always felt I was most creative and flourished with endless ideas when I was writing or drawing. It's almost as if when I stopped writing, etc - I lost my desire to be that creative being that I used to love to be. Creativity is in my blood. My mother's father is a singer and a drummer; he's opened up for The Supremes, James Brown, and Little Richard back in his hay day. He still plays down in Florida with a big band and he just turned 81 last week. My father's father was a painter and also wrote (short stories, editorials) so creativity was no suprise when I started my love of music and art at the age of 2 & 3 (honey, I used to dance so hard to music, sing in my little tikes mic & radio like I was Mariah Carey, and draw pictures for the fridge whenever I could!). So, it's no coincidence that I feel slightly incomplete without the presence of writing and drawing in my current life. What I did a few minutes ago was look up my very first blog from 2003 - it was on BlogDrive and apparently, it doesn't exist anymore LMAO. I even found posts I made on the BlogDrive forum from December 2003 -- super freaky..... but anyways... I DID find my poetry site and like 7 poems that I had written. My favorite, thankfully, was on there..I've never copied it to paper so I was so relieved that I had finally found it. I'd like to share it with you all: SMOKE it dug deep with wounds open the smoke enlarged and the door kept closing and i was trapped in that room me and a blaze in bloom under the glaze of smoke suffocating and in his blood i was soaked my lungs gently tightened the fire quickly hightened and i soon became we if only i could see but the grey went on for days and for miles stood the haze but the feeling, the feeling was strange pleasure and pain a mosaic of two and oddly burnt off of you then i saw it that light of the culprit love the inevitable match only if the friction lacked i'd be free instead of in the 3rd degree. cntr0l © 2003-2009 What do you think? |