desperate poet

i (theoretically) scream into the void and wonder why no one can hear me. after so many rejections of what i think is good poetry, i start to write less and think more. contrary to popular belief, writing is hard. one must curl up, turn on some rather problematic lana del rey, and prepare to spill their whole souls for someone who will never put a face to a name. then, one breaks for the washroom, and returns. they forget what they were writing about in the first place. this is the problem with writing: the zone is endlessly difficult to become immersed in, and can last anywhere from fourteen seconds to three hours. once it is gone, there is no telling when it will return. sometimes i am in the zone when i am falling asleep, words pouring out of my mouth as i nod off to dream/nightmareland. other times, it hits me as i’m actually in close proximity to writing utensils! imagine! not dissimilar to giving birth, the idea has to gestate, cooking in my brain as i throw out all the wrong words to describe my emotions. eventually i hit a jackpot (or close enough, depending on the time restraints), and bam! poetry! feelings! easy! hardly. when i send my work out, let it be read by others and share my heart with the world, the rejection emails sting just a bit more. i am doing my best. i am writing my best, but lately, it must not be quite good enough.