Dream -
Bloody Hell
Everyone's so deep here, no?
Writing our poems, our dreams, our wishes, and tucking them behind a glowing screen.Â
We're cowards.Â
And the poems, they are glorious when written, at first, sparkling wit  and vivid imagery, path-blazing masterpieces.
And then they're not. And we're embarrassed; we delete or edit, as though we are gods to rewrite the world. As though we can make the world meaningful.Â
We can't.
And my dream is to see some of the lines you've deleted- tell me the sonnets you cringe at, now, but which captured your sixteen-year-old self, or appeared rosy through a glass of red wine.
Then tell me your moment of true genius, the one phrase you've written that captures something perfectly- because every atom has a centre. Â
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Comments
I completely agree with your sentiment- I've always felt that the words that come as spontaneous inspiration are so much higher than whatever lines I have to drag tooth and nail through my subconscious when I HAVE to write. Art can't be rushed, as they say.
Spontaneity is the life blood of some of the most genius pieces I've ever read, with a little revision down the line on some.
That being said you want our discards and teen angst pieces this was one i had tossed out my friend was it next to the trash retrieved it and insisted no matter what i think of it at the time hang on to it bc someday that flash of lightening might strike editorial gold. The world at 15
Awesome  Amanda so true when I sleep I am out in the spheres and me for some reason am designing the most fabulous clothes.  I just wear regular low maintenance stuff but when I dream it is grand truly grand.
I look forward to sleep these days so maybe I get a chance to talk to my mom. Â