Lyrical Logic

I’m writing this the night before my book is released. It’s late, and I should be in bed. But I just can’t sleep to shut my brain off to allow myself to drift off to sleep. So instead, I’m up, on my people eating couch (it’s super comfy, I love this couch) watching Bones for probably the 5th or 6th time. My cats being problem children trying to eat my fake flowers that serve as a centerpiece on my coffee table. And my brain just won’t shut off.

I have been thinking a lot about what might be next for my writing. I obviously wish I could just pump out poem after poem, but I’ve found now that I’m not in a constant state of “is the world trying to kill me” it takes a lot more for me to write. Pain fuels my creativity. Which, isn’t necessarily healthy. But, I picked out a new journal, and will begin writing. Once that journal is finished, I’ll publish that set. I have no idea when that will be. And I’m not going to push myself to finish it. Because if I’ve learned anything about myself and my writing the last year and a half, since I decided I could publish it, it’s that I can’t rush the process. It just happens.

Sitting in the calm
It doesn't feel safe.
It almost feels more chaotic than the chaos.
It doesn't make sense
And I can't explain it
But the calm makes my brain
Spin out of control.

My therapist tells me the calm is good. My therapist tells me calm is what most people know. It’s considered normal. For me, it’s terrifying. And it’s different, and I don’t know if I like it. But I’ll roll with it. I don’t really have a choice.