I have a sudden desire to write poetry, but I'm resisting with all my might. I am not good at poetry. I know it takes practice and all, but I write it and then I laugh and I laugh and I laugh. The next day I go back and read it and laugh some more. I can't take my poetry seriously, even if it's meant to be serious.
What would I write poetry about? I don't know. Honestly. I don't know where the inspiration has come from. I suspect it's my brain once again trying to distract me from what I really need to do. "Don't write articles, write poetry!" it whispers. My brain just wants to see me humiliated, for some reason. Either that or it is hanging onto sanity with its fingernails (there's an interesting mental image for you) and needs poetry as an outlet away from other types of words written into articles of 400, 500, or 1000 word lengths, involving varied and sometimes odd subjects for which I have to research and then create original sentences and paragraphs in a coherent and concise fashion, and sometimes I just can't think of anything and I still have to crank them out so I can make some kind of money to pay for my hair trim and the kids' shoes cause they just don't stop growing and whatever else comes up that isn't budgeted for!
Hmmm. I think we've made a real breakthrough here. I'll be coming back next week at the same time.
Meanwhile, some poetry. I've lost the battle after all.
There was a young lady from Darby...
Oh, forget it.
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