In the closets of my conscience And in the pits of my mind I have locked away a few regrets And I have buried a few fears
Well, I have written shittier poems, so this one doesn’t seem so bad. Poems are the dark craters of my moon. It’s not their fault. I will never really know why I suck at poetry. When I get to solving the mystery, I find myself thinking that poetry is just hard. There’s nothing more to it. Then I wonder if I am not working hard. Then I argue poetry is an art, can hard work compensate for that natural flair here?
When I have wasted enough time over this and my brain is tired enough, I give poetry another shot. Before writing, I go through all my poetry lessons to choose a form and a technique that suits my mood at the moment.While writing, I think I should use a better word. I wonder if the metaphor fits. If Nihilism was oxygen, I would have instantly died. I cannot, just cannot, imagine anything to be meaningless and empty. So, all my poems have a message or a purpose. And I wonder, if I just handout the message, would I be considered not a poet enough? If I complicate it, then how will it remain cloaked but not hidden? If I haven’t had enough yet, I read poems by my class-mates, unknown poets, talented poets, established poets, famous poets, and by poets like T.S Eliot, and feel sorry for myself.
Hi! I am Nadia and a complete self-critical, nervous wreck.
Well, I have written this for Writing101. They wanted us to be impulsive. So, I went with this wherever my thoughts lead me to. It is rough but bear with it.One thing lead to another, and now I have Nadia. Insha Allah, I will write more of her story in future. Right now, the date of my exam is hammering at the back of my mind.