deepundergroundpoetry.com
"Inspire"
"#Inspire"
That's what the necklace read.
Pretty font.
Silver chain.
Sitting on a Wal-Mart shelf.
I wanted it.
And I almost took it.
But my strong will told me: "No".
So I let it go.
But still, I can't help but think about it.
How much I wish I felt inspired.
Inspired to write something.
One of the many lives swirling around inside of my mind.
I wish that something could inspire me.
The songs on my iPod make me jealous--
So do the novels sitting unread, on my shelves.
The library books in the kitchen, untouched.
Intended for research on the things I do not know.
But my characters like these things and so I must learn them.
But no matter what I read--
Or what I research--
I can't bring myself to stop talking--
Stop dicussing--
Stop reading--
Stop researching--
And just write.
I can't write.
And it hurts.
It hurts so much.
It tears me apart.
I love writing. . .
I fell in love with poems, stories and novels when I was twelve years old.
I'm going on twenty-one and I don't know how to do anything else.
I can't go back to school.
I can't get a job.
And nothing else interests, amuses or appeals to me.
I'll never not love writing.
Like I'll never stop writing poetry.
Or reading books.
Or listening to music.
But every single piece of literature.
It fills me with jealousy and rage.
The green-eyed monster comes out to play.
I hate all of it, my favorite singer.
Her words inspire emotions in my characters.
But it's the wrong emotions, the wrong stories that I want to write.
But at this point in my life.
I don't even know what is wrong and what is right.
Which story am I even suppose to be writing anymore?
What am I even doing here?
Who am I anymore?
"Inspire"
The title of this poem taunts me.
Because I'm so uninspired by everything.
I'm writing poetry about necklaces in stores.
That do nothing but mock me.
With their uninspiring and meaningless words.
That's what the necklace read.
Pretty font.
Silver chain.
Sitting on a Wal-Mart shelf.
I wanted it.
And I almost took it.
But my strong will told me: "No".
So I let it go.
But still, I can't help but think about it.
How much I wish I felt inspired.
Inspired to write something.
One of the many lives swirling around inside of my mind.
I wish that something could inspire me.
The songs on my iPod make me jealous--
So do the novels sitting unread, on my shelves.
The library books in the kitchen, untouched.
Intended for research on the things I do not know.
But my characters like these things and so I must learn them.
But no matter what I read--
Or what I research--
I can't bring myself to stop talking--
Stop dicussing--
Stop reading--
Stop researching--
And just write.
I can't write.
And it hurts.
It hurts so much.
It tears me apart.
I love writing. . .
I fell in love with poems, stories and novels when I was twelve years old.
I'm going on twenty-one and I don't know how to do anything else.
I can't go back to school.
I can't get a job.
And nothing else interests, amuses or appeals to me.
I'll never not love writing.
Like I'll never stop writing poetry.
Or reading books.
Or listening to music.
But every single piece of literature.
It fills me with jealousy and rage.
The green-eyed monster comes out to play.
I hate all of it, my favorite singer.
Her words inspire emotions in my characters.
But it's the wrong emotions, the wrong stories that I want to write.
But at this point in my life.
I don't even know what is wrong and what is right.
Which story am I even suppose to be writing anymore?
What am I even doing here?
Who am I anymore?
"Inspire"
The title of this poem taunts me.
Because I'm so uninspired by everything.
I'm writing poetry about necklaces in stores.
That do nothing but mock me.
With their uninspiring and meaningless words.
Published 9th Nov 2014
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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Commenting Preference:
The author encourages honest critique.
9th Nov 2014 8:23am
9th Nov 2014 10:24pm
9th Nov 2014 4:12pm
Hey! Look on the bright side. You were inspired to write this and post it. Probably it has meaning for a lot of people. We all go through uninspiring times now and then.
9th Nov 2014 10:27pm
I guess that's the constant irony that comes from someone who uses poetry to vent their emotions, even when I have nothing to say-- I still have something to say, just in a different way. Anyway thanks for the comment, hope you enjoyed the poem and well one of the reasons that I write is because I hope to inspire people one day. Like other poets and fellow writers, it's why I write books and poetry. Because I want my words to reach the masses and show them that someone, just like them cares and understands.
- Paige Rider
- Paige Rider
10th Nov 2014 2:56am
10th Nov 2014 2:57am
