Up late...again.
Inspiration comes in so many forms, but my muse becomes the words of others. My desires spring to life when other’s make it clear how the written word be read. Where are my words, written under the coat of arms protecting my strengths and growing under my weak pretenses. Senseless acts of literacy, failed attempts at authorship. There are so many stories, started, halted forgotten and ended. So many beginnings and not nearly enough ends. Where does the circle start with truth, and how is it that deception clears that path to my poetic mission?
Its my life, my mission, my passion…the time is now, and never…here and after. Its always the same, the pattern, the prose, the repetition, the addition of and, or who, what and where. Give me magic, splurge on me, words and phrase, show the me the me I see when I read me inside. Read to me what you could see, If I could only show you what to see. If I could paint a picture, you would see, see, see, what is it about me you want to see?
So, erotica is a subject, you would think I'd be a-ok with writing...I read it enough, dream it more. but the pressure to put a beautiful imaginary thought onto white paper with black lines, overwhelms. I'm challenging my comfortable limits writing, because I have begun the downward spiral of seemingly re-writing my history, in new a new light. there is only so much self exploration a girl can do, reflecting on the same subject for years...Yes its me, and yes, she's crazy.
I kissed someone yesterday, and fell asleep in her bed...the bed she built, its beatiful. It was beautiful...muse...muse muse...I'm so not in the mood to be mushy. Sometimes its true a kiss is just a kiss, and today, I wish it would just be left behind to a great memory..but to leave behind a great night, means to not again look forward to a better one.
Its my life, my mission, my passion…the time is now, and never…here and after. Its always the same, the pattern, the prose, the repetition, the addition of and, or who, what and where. Give me magic, splurge on me, words and phrase, show the me the me I see when I read me inside. Read to me what you could see, If I could only show you what to see. If I could paint a picture, you would see, see, see, what is it about me you want to see?
So, erotica is a subject, you would think I'd be a-ok with writing...I read it enough, dream it more. but the pressure to put a beautiful imaginary thought onto white paper with black lines, overwhelms. I'm challenging my comfortable limits writing, because I have begun the downward spiral of seemingly re-writing my history, in new a new light. there is only so much self exploration a girl can do, reflecting on the same subject for years...Yes its me, and yes, she's crazy.
I kissed someone yesterday, and fell asleep in her bed...the bed she built, its beatiful. It was beautiful...muse...muse muse...I'm so not in the mood to be mushy. Sometimes its true a kiss is just a kiss, and today, I wish it would just be left behind to a great memory..but to leave behind a great night, means to not again look forward to a better one.