I’ve been wondering the last few days why I haven’t been writing as much poetry —more specifically, why I haven’t been writing any good poetry.

Is it a matter of inspiration? Of technique? If it’s the former, I’m not exactly lacking in things to write about. There is, in fact, an overabundance of good (and bad) things in my life. I’ve (re)made new friends –here’s a gratuitous shoutout to the Tenants. I’ve found myself infatuated with at least two new people since I last wrote poetry (probably), and I’ve always written about the new faces of interest in my life. And I’ve even had at least four emotional milestones since then. I’ve been in two (2) fights (!! though admittedly both of them weren’t the conventional kind of fight), and in two (2) cases of mismatched expectations in relationships. Eww. I’ve felt embarrassment, guilt, sadness. And I can’t count the number of times I found myself falling in love and out of it in the space of one night. 

If it’s the latter… well. Is writing ever a talent that leaves you? Or is it a skill that degenerates with neglect? Whatever the case, I’m fucked. Either I haven’t been writing as much, or I do write frequently. It’s just that what does come out is just shit. Hurrah. 

Maybe I’ve entered a stage of creative stagnation as a result of my current existential crisis. (What existential crisis? Who knows.) Everything I’ve written in the past few weeks can be characterized as strings of nice lines with trash in between. There’s no rhythm, no meaning. There’s no soul. Perhaps I have no soul as well. Because, in spite, since. 

So par for the course, I’ve decided to briefly write about the problem instead of do anything about it. Maybe it’s time for a contained artistic revolution. If I produce any quality content in the next few days that’s not just me unleashing word vomit everywhere, I’ll pat myself on the back. 

In other news, this blog post displays an excessive use of the word-phrase “I’ve”. It’s also the most structured word vomit ever. Did you notice?