my words are clay, trying to
mold foundations for poems
that swim around my mind
inspired by strangers who will
never read my words
i toil at my desk at night, trying to form vessels
sleep is not customary for creatives
stanzas lurk just behind the lamp light
single lines haunt my dreams
my nightmares center around structure
serial killers use cartridges filled with lead couplets
you may not understand my hustle
but i'm going to sweat
even faint before i quit
doubt creeps under my comforter but
passion crushes the boulders off my shoulders
and forms diamonds with the debris
I wrote the first two lines of this poem a while back, but never really knew how to finish this piece off. I figured this should be a poem about the creative process, and the ongoing struggle creatives have with their work. Creating something is not easy, being original has it's challenges, and most of all creating something you truly like is nearly impossible (at least in my own experience). Thankfully, I have found validation, support, and help through the I Am Root team, and the writers of the Rooted Minds Blog. I honestly don't know where my writing would be without them. I don't know if I would have the mindset I currently have without them.