To be honest, I think rhyming gets me off. I get euphoric after I’ve pieced together a decent story. Sure, writing is hard. Rhyming is harder. But you wouldn’t see it that way if you saw me in a dizzy spell writing, sometimes pieces come together so quickly. Or the fact that I live and breathe rhyme 24/7. I think I might have an addiction, albeit, is it a healthy one? I literally write anywhere, and while doing everything. Sometimes I force myself to stop writing and other times I think I’ll never be able to write anything ever again. But alas, I’m still rhyming *sigh* and have been since the age of 12. I fell in love with poetry in the 3rd grade though, when I read an Emily Dickinson poem (I talk a bit about that in my thank you video on my Patreon for my patrons who join, so the video is still there if you are my patron and overlooked watching it. It’s been there since the beginning of my campaign). Anyhoo, sometimes I think I don’t have a drop of rhyme left in me. And then it is flowing out. In heaps. Like lava. And often with tears. My rhyme contains my soul. I lived in a very abusive environment as a child and writing became my escape. Writing was my coping mechanism. And still is of today.
My attempt at “But is it art” below… (but is it art was a saying me and my best friend used to say all the time when we’d fuck shit up. Like once, we redid a chair by putting our handprints in paint all over it graffiti style and writing “but is it art!?!). She died by suicide and I’ve never been the same. But all my attempts at art end with, BUT IS IT ART!?!
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