Poem: "Collected"

I wanted to share another poem. Thanks to my friend, the talented poet and musician, Tre'don, for titling it.

You always smelled
Like Doublemint gum
And stale cigarettes.
You said you wore all black
Because it made you feel powerful.
And you never combed your hair
Because you didn't have the time,
For there were memories to be made.
You always spoke too fast
And hugged me too tight,
But I didn't mind.
When we met you told me
That you collected stars.
I thought it was
So silly,
So ridiculous
To believe that you could
Own something
That belonged to the gods,
To the universe,
To the world.
But now that I think about it,
I did consider
You
To be mine.

Jaylin



Click to visit Tre'don's Youtube page.

Writer's Block

Writer's block (aka: Satan)

I want to write. I want to write something profound, and thought-provoking. I'd love to just get lost in my writing, like I have so many times before but I just can't.

And I have so many things I want to write about. There are so many things I have to say. Ideas are always coming to me (even when I wish they'd stop so I can sleep).

But lately, every time I pick up a pen, it's like I don't even know how  to write. It's like I haven't even learned how to form letters yet, let alone sentences.

It's excruciating. It's like having something trapped deep inside you. It's in your mind, your soul, it is a part of you that you cannot express. And you try. You try so hard to put it on paper and get it outside of you. But you fail. And the idea haunts you. It becomes all you think about. You play with it. You twist it, and turn it, like a loose tooth. And just like a loose tooth, you can mess around with it all you want, but if it's not coming out, it's not coming out.

(Writer's block has actually gotten so bad for me, that the only thing I actually can write about is writer's block.)

I'm going to go torture myself some more now, and maybe I'll have a paragraph by the end of the night.

Wish me luck.