First Hand

When passion strikes
I fight, to write
I run until
No ones in sight

And even still 
I always feel
Exposed, afraid 
That’s my deal

My burning chest 
It’s how I’m blessed
My source of words
I must undress

Without the knife
The pain of life
I’d lose my drive 
My will to write

artemotionsi do not know?

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Daniel Turner

February 7, 2020 at 2:28 PM

It is most definitely cathartic! Another great one Anna!

Jesse Zerlaut

November 18, 2019 at 11:30 AM

You've painted a canvas of what it feels to be a writer. I wrestle mostly with needing complete silence. I can move to be away from the noise and still by the time I get there lose my thought. Or start poetry, get distracted, go to return to it and find the energy I was throwing into it has vanished, like some form of lost magic. Well worded, I enjoy reading from your ink!

Anna Hopper

November 29, 2019 at 8:10 AM

Oh how I can relate to every word in your response. I am either completely enthralled and nothing else seems to matter, or I can’t find a drop of passion.. anywhere. Once the passion is gone, it is gone.