Why I Couldn't Write This Particular Poem

|Credit: [x]|

I have this need for absolute silence. Not silence, where the little things get tuned out. Not silence as in no human noises. Not silence but for the wind. Not silence except for the buzzing of spirits. Just silence.

Don't get me wrong, I love nature. And usually the "silence" of being out there is enough. But I've been struggling with getting over a poetic writer's block. I've been told by a couple of very fine folk that cliche is okay if it is honest. But knowing what I know from taking advanced Poetry class, it is best to not over-do the emotion. It reads like drama. So essentially, cliche reads like drama. Perfect...

I need to be in my own head a bit more and face the block. I'm not talking about my daily meditation. I mean really debating revision and figuring out how to just write this without being so conflicted over percieved "rules and regulations" about drama and emotion in poetry. One thing I do know and will stick to is that what I feel is the honest truth. So if it ends up being there just too much -- well. I'm not making it up. I just feel each time I read over my writing, all of it is made for the trash bin. It is like real life -- it sounds amazing in your head, and then you speak and it sounds like you've barely graduated kindergarten. (cue asdfmovie5 -- an extreme case of baby voice.)

The best I can do is keep trying, and never give up -- it doesn't matter how many pages get thrown in the recycle bin or scratched out by my own hand and given snarky commentary on what is wrong. That's just the writer's block speaking.