Words and what motivated you to write them

[BrahamCracker]

Write something, anything, and explain your thoughts, feelings, reactions, state of mind, problems troubling you, pleasure, anything really. Whatever you want people to know about your writings, you write after you post your poem. This is more for therapy than criticism, but i believe it can be both. My councelor tells me to write stuff that i'm feeling and read it to her, while she asks me questions and responds. This is what i'm hoping for here.

This is a thread full of constructive criticism and understanding. We all go through a lot and to me, the best way to let it out is to write.

This is a rough draft for my poetry class, I wrote it about a picture i took with my grandpa when i was 12. We went to Canada with friends and family and had a whole week of fishing together. He is the closest male figure in my life and the most influencial person to me.

The young kid stands up tall.
Smiling as he holds up his catch –
6 skinny walleyes dangling lifelessly.
The kid stands up tall smiling.

Before his rusted, beat up truck
stands the proudest grandfather.
Arm over his grandson;
they smile for the camera.

His glasses magnify his eyes.
This is his only grandson he loves him.
Holding him as if he was being kidnapped;
smiling down on him like God from Heaven

The young kid stands tall and still smiling.
Both are wearing matching hats and shirts.
John Deere Greene shows the Grandfather's other love.
Their smiles a force field against sadness.

A camouflaged boat filling valuable background space.
Giant maple trees cover all but the sky,
and a small log cabin near the river.
Driveway littered with cottonwood seeds.

Behind the camera is grandma,
taking the picture of grandpa.
Ignoring the grandson's measly catch,
time well spent with family was his motto.

 

[nearjat]

That was a pleasure to read For some reason If eel like the last line would be way better without the word "family" haha no explanation besides aesthetics.

I wrote this after meeting someone that was a LOT like me in his mannerisms, hobbies and talents. We both were a bit self destructive, but he also had cancer. And I was just deeply saddened while equally amazed that all of us are like stars guaranteed to burn out, but seems like some of us burn off our fuel at a much faster rate. And while it may bring us to our demise earlier, it sure is pretty to look at

I met a kid
He was talented at dying
And other things too
He's just like me
He's just like you
His language spilled out
Ive said every word already
Whoa quote heady I'll teach you if you let me

 

[Sweetsomniferum]

Surge of creativity during withdrawal from opiates?

As I continue my painful and disgusting detox from methadone, I am pleasantly amazed at the surge of inspiration and the pressing desire to create. My respite from this horror has been the unfolding of a pas de trois to a traditional arrangement of "Scarborough Fair" for alto and two mezzos. The piece is unfolding so cleanly and clearly that I'm ready to set it to dancers. At the same time, three other dances are forming themselves in my mind. All pieces depict the lush joy and the repetitive rituals and struggle of opiate use, as well as the eventual submersion of the user in the drug.
At the same time, it seems as though I will begin my post-methadone life with a bountiful supply of Opium due to an unexpected re-formation of a severed supply line. I am moving to a beautiul emerald green land "between the salt water / And the sea strand" and the idea of moving there with Her is so enticing. I want to build a sustainable life with Her in this quiet, water-filled land; I hope that treating Her as the most precious Crown of Creation will prevent the uncontrolled use that subsumed me, resulting in a long drought of creativity.

 

[lordreven333]

Ok this isn't a poem a story or anything really just something I wrote a while back I lost one of my pages the red crow. I'm a terrible writer but I hope you enjoy reading


Angel of Death

The one and only Angel of Death choosing who lives and who dies.She is my guardian she chooses to let me live as I bleed out my eyes. I see her a thousand times a second flashes of light almost blinding I'm paralyzed and my eyes are bleeding I hope to see her again I don't want to live forever.

Everyone's view of her is at the end their own death. My visions all open eyes paralyzed I'm ready to see her again this will be my end my death an invitation to my own hell.

It's shit now I know god damn I change it again and again why it was probably great at first and 3 times as long...