I am no poet. I never was and I don’t think I’ll ever be one. But for some weird reason, I saw myself frantically scribbling words in my planner for the past few days. Sticky notes of loud, neon colors are plastered all over my planner, filled with literally randomness.
I have a feeling that utter boredom and frustration led me to poetry once more. Back in high school, I loved to write poetry. It was the usual cheesy stuff that ruled my head. I had a clear book’s worth of poems but I threw it away. Now, I regret ever throwing that clear book away. I wish I had some common sense in me to keep it. For reference and humor’s sake, that is.
I don’t know how long I can keep this up, but I really want to get better at this. I want to harness the creativity in me and be more than just another writer-slash-journalist.