constant


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.


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