ON WRITING

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This piece is going to be another not-so-long one. I was prompted to write about writing, and my writing process. That, however, is a beast of a prompt, and would easily take hours. How many? Well, I am not sure exactly. At least a day. Probably 3-5 days 6 hours a day. And that is legit. Because I am not a trained writer. I do not know the correct way to construct a short story. Buuuuutttt, I like to write, and I like my writing. So, even if it mattered to one person—if one person found one line inspirational, that is necessary work to me. I take it seriously, even if my writing is sometimes not.

I am going pop into how I write my poetry, where my inspiration comes from, or how I get inspired. What pushes me to write a poem? Why do I call myself the Bloody, Awful, Poet?

First, let’s get something clear and out of the way. I have never taken a poetry class in school, or anywhere else. As a result, my poetry can read like abstract thoughts swirling, looping, and jumping through wormholes to get to where the poem is meant to be in the end. That is to say, there are times where the picture comes locked and loaded, and I need to figure out the route to get there. You know, something like take this road, then at the roundabout take the third right. Go to the third stop sign, and take a sharp right. Your destination will be 7.3 miles on the left.

Other times, one of my senses will be popped, and I will start with a color or a shape or a type of weather event or a natural element. I can use an animal to represent some feeling and something in nature to represent some form of pain or pleasure.

I am not bound by structure. I like that for now. If I want to be taken as a serious poet then I need to study. I forgot who said something like I mastered the rules so that I could break them. I can get down with that. Makes a lot of sense. Honestly, it makes me a bit nervous. I know that my poetry can be good. At times, lol. Even amazing, at times, Most times, though, it is bloody awful, and only sounds good to me. That is okay. Maybe one day someone will find the website and read through it. Maybe someone will navigate to the Poetry section and read my work and appreciate it. Just one person.

I think I am scared to be vulnerable in front of a group or class of people, especially poets. To share my work, and have to take criticism will be hard for me. I have AuDHD (claiming the u) and the RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria) that comes with it may crush me. Make my shrink and crawl back into my carefully constructed hole and bury myself for a bi

When writing my kind of poetry, I use colors like fruits—purple becomes jammy and silky, all red luscious wines. And it is not just purple, it is all kinds of purple like midnight purple, lilac, lavender, then I will throw in the burgundy wine, plums and indigo, mix it with blood red lacquer, making wine and lace, which coincidentally is how I describe myself. Brown becomes grounding earth, healing and cool on the feet, tasting of life, and teeming with excitement. But colors and fruits mix quite a lot. Of course, that is not all. It is just an example of how my mind will jump from A to ! and 2 to C.

Shapes, smells, sounds, pictures, snippets of movies, or tv shows (shout out GG) are great ways for inspiration. What I have a hard time doing is sitting down and intentionally working an Acrostic poem. Shit, I didn’t even remember what it was until Brandon Ellrich posted one. I immediately tried my hand at it, and it was horrid! Like, really bad. I know a problem of mine though. If I am not immediately bomb dot com, I am like peace. Not with poetry though. Maybe with structure.

I am, though, going to challenge myself to learn at least two legit styles of writing poetry this year. I do love my freestyle and free flow. I am a Poet, though, and I want to be respected as such. I don’t have to be known as the best (even though that is always my intention. Rather, it is my intention to do the best I can do, understanding that my best will be up there with the best. Talk about cockiness, lol.)

Of course, the best poetry paints vivid pictures or serene landscapes which the reader can meander, romp, or run through. It leave up to interpretation, certain elements. And I think that is the best way of allowing an organic poem to grow. It allows people to insert themselves into the world being created. It allows them to take that ride, to have that trip that explodes their brains, or lulls them into a sense of peace and serenity. It can be political (and there should be more political poets. They are necessary. My poetry is political in a personal way - through the lens of a Black, trans, nonbinary person trying to navigate a country and government not made for people like me.)

While I consider myself a Poet, I also consider myself something of a Griot. A Griot is a storyteller. The word is West African, and it means someone who keeps tradition, history, and family structure, passing and disseminating this information orally. I may not be the top dog public speaker. I do know, though, that I can captivate and control a small group of people. And if some of that group push that information, well that is exactly what I want. Of course, as a Griot, as in many positions within subgroups, like with my initiation into my spirituality, I take that seriously. It is my birthright. And I am not joking. I am a keeper of secrets. I am the shoulder when someone needs to rest their head. I am the ear when they need to talk. That is who I am. I keep confidences. I am that person. And I believe these strengthen my understanding of sensation, of nature, of being.