Tonight (it’s after midnight here… damn, it’s 3 am again) I don’t feel like working on the poems that I was writing these days, it takes time before they are ready and most of them involve feelings, I need to immerse myself in that feeling from where the poem comes, which is exhausting… and I feel relieved… every time I finish a poem. Then I know I can take a break for a few days, I’ll be empty, I’m always both empty and full after I finally finish the hard job. It reminds me of giving birth actually. There is no way I’m going to be writing about child rearing or to be another writing mom, because I’m writing poetry and not about reusable diapers (if you have any idea how I should wash those, please tell me!!!), and because I’m Irina (yes, I’m someone’s mom but for the rest of the world I’m a milf… haha, no, I mean Irina) and I’m not obsessing over motherhood, it happens anyway, it brings joy, that’s it.
I finally realized why I get extremely anxious sometimes (and why I sucked at chemistry). Anxiety is my inner bell which is reminding me that I have to write, now. I didn’t recognize that noisy alarm before, I wrote but the wrong things, mostly to the wrong people. Now I know how to find peace, I’ll just write and let what’s choking me out.
Oh, if you’re wondering about my chemistry failure- the chemistry classes always started at 6.50 am when I was at school (looong time ago) I still don’t know whose brilliant idea was that, to make teenagers study a very serious matter so early in the morning?! I’ve always needed 3-4 hours to be completely awake and functioning. If you need me for something, call me after 12 pm, OK?
Most of the time I didn’t even go to the damn chemistry classes! Impossible! Torture!
As I wrote in my About section, my ultimate goal as a writer is to write the most beautiful poem (as narcissistic as it may sound) and it’s not necessary for that poem to be seen as beautiful, good or even as a poem by the readers. I only write for one reader, anyway. Each of my poems was meant to be seen by one person, this one person varies and isn’t always the same.
It always strikes me to find out that other people read them. I can’t read my poems after I press the “publish” button, yet I love them, yet I’m too critical and I know that most of them needed a lot more work. Also, if I cared for my muse to see the poem, I would’ve sent it to them and would not have bothered you, who are reading this post right now (and if you weren’t lucky- my blog before…).
I’ll never be that super productive writer who posts 3 poems per day and they are all good. I might have periods when I write a poem or two each day but some of those poems don’t have life in them (my own feeling) or they end up being dismembered, meaning I took a few worthy lines and sewed them to another poem and that made it complete. I’m not sure, because I’m not really unbiased but I suspect that all of the things I write have the same damn subject and I maybe repeat the same thoughts in different words. That being said, I know I need a more active life and something happening to me, only to me, from time to time (any mother’s issues).
I’m happy, really happy and very peaceful tonight. I was getting anxious and I could see sentences, clear thoughts (I hope) instead of lines and rhymes (I don’t care about rhymes).
I miss you, Irish guy.