I don’t know why I always gravitate towards writing about negative, unhappy things. I am in a good mood – I am happy, honest! I am in a good place, but I can’t seem to write from this place. When I write it’s only because something has happened to make me think of a darker place – I have nothing to say about happiness. Why?
Glow in the Dark Words
Why must there be suffering before there is art?
I cannot create art from anything else life gives me.
My words glow in the dark –
I can’t find them in bright places
but when I’m in that black place again
It’s like a word-growing field.
The word farm.
I wish I was writing from a different place.
I wish I was writing from the present, but
the feel of my own forearm gives me flashbacks.
In sunshine, the words don’t exist.
In sunshine, I am useless.