In honor of Valentine's Day, I figured it was time to finalize this poem that I have been working on for a few weeks. It is about the decision to stop finding inspiration from someone. It is beautiful to let pain inspire you, but eventually you have to stop crediting a painful memory with your creativity.
This is a poem that I just wrote because why would inspiration strike at any time of day besides the middle of the night? This is probably the most rhythmic poem that I have written in a while.
This is an excerpt written minutes ago from my newest novel, Forsaken of Silence, which I am more than halfway done with as of now. It is a brief scene, but one that doesn't reveal very much.
This is an older poem written just shy of two years ago, about the lingering question in the back of the mind of so many: who am I to be deserving of love?
This is a poem about my disdain for the term "ex" when referring to a former loved one.
This is the fifth poem in a series I did of five poems that tell a very ambiguous, surreal story of the passing of time, written entirely to a specific piece of instrumental music.
This is the fourth poem in a series I did of five poems that tell a very ambiguous, surreal story of the passing of time, written entirely to a specific piece of instrumental music.
This is the third poem in a series I did of five poems that tell a very ambiguous, surreal story of the passing of time, written entirely to a specific piece of instrumental music.
This is the second poem in a series I did of five poems that tell a very ambiguous, surreal story of the passing of time, written entirely to a specific piece of instrumental music.
This is the first poem in a series I did of five poems that tell a very ambiguous, surreal story of the passing of time, written entirely to a specific piece of instrumental music.
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