Poetry sort of pulled me in; when a poem materializes in my mind, it's usually easy. It's why I started writing; because the words already existed in my mind; I just had to let it flow out. It's like picking fruit from a bush; it makes you ask, why shouldn't I do this?
When I write a poem, a lot of the time, it's as if I'm just recording the things that I recognize around me. Sometimes, it's just the world story flowing through me; as I read the news, scroll through the internet, and consume content, it inspires poetry reflective of that content.
Sometimes, it's also just energy; it builds up, and it flows out naturally, producing a poem. That's the great thing about poetry, if there’s a rhyme and a rhythm, a feeling, what's next, comes naturally.
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Sometimes, as a set of words is before me, or a question is presented to me, my mind can process, let's say, an artistic resolution to the problem. This could just be a product of how I was raised, or how I viewed the world as I grew up; but producing that reflection in a poem is also easy.
A lot of the things I write, are just close to me; it's easy to pluck, and it's easy to claim.
But there are things on my radar, that pass by me, which would take effort to reach for. It would take a desire greater than what I usually write with to claim.
And fate is fickle, like a faery, if I reached for these things, they might just fly away.
Anyways, there are a few things that have registered in my mind, but haven't completed processing; I could wait for the rest of my life, and they might never finish processing.
So I'm deciding to seek it out, maybe I'll fish it out of the sea, or maybe I'll have to hunt for it.
These are things, that if I sought to claim, there is a good chance, I'd make a mistake, in representing its truth; there's a chance I'll falsely represent them.
But alas, that's art. This isn’t a textbook. It's a ship sailing out to sea. It's bound to get stormy.