Hope Renewed

So a lot of things have happened in such a short span of time. I feel slightly more replenished with the feel good endorphines everyone wishes they had on on the entire time. Although there are still times when all I want to do is curl up on my bed and do nothing for the rest of my life, I am starting to feel more hopeful. I know, shocking right? But we all know that for me, these feelings are often flukes and teases that never seem to last. But anyway.

So while in bed last night, desperately trying to sleep (last night was the worst sleep I have gotten in a long time, I couldn't sleep at all. It was straight up insomnia level), I decided that I might try my hand at writing poetry. I mean, not at that very moment at 4:45am, but start as in making it into a new and developing hobby. This is a very big step for me because I basically gave up even trying since I didn't/don't think I had/have it. (this includes writing books/lyrics too) I've never done so because I have never had any faith in myself to be able to create it. Poetry is like a type of art; it's also just so beautiful too.

I never thought I was artistic enough to create something out of nothing. (Well I never have been able to, I've always lacked that ability) I mean yeah I can articulate well and do what I do in this blog. I can speak of real and deep issues and elaborate then down to the T with my neverending prose that are based on long sentences, but to be great at creating fiction is another thing in itself. Being artistic and creative are two completely different things.

More as time passes, the realization that I have no talent at all and that I am just ordinary is beginning to dawn on me and come on a bit too strongly. It's scary. I mean I am good at analytical, theoretical, practical situations, thinking, and other things. Things have always come easily to me. I have always been good at things, with the major exception of being artistic of course, but never great. You know, just GREAT, the kind that can creating heart and soul moving pieces and ideas. I can't work with my hands and create something beautiful. I wish I could draw, paint, write poetry choreograph, or play an instrument (the term Art posseses all forms), but I just can't. It's like there's this mental chip in my brain that prevents me from doing so no matter how hard I try. I can pick someone's brain, but I don't have the brain that has golden ticket- talent. My mind is just blank when I try to formulate something out of nothing. Trust me, I got a C in creative writing- I couldn't come up with any interesting story when I was told to start from nothing. You know? No prompts and write about whatever you want to write about. I'm not like great writers who write fiction and who have a millions stories in their minds just waiting to be tangibly produced and reproduced. Sad, but too true. See what I mean about the difference between being artistic and creative? I know I'm creative, but I envy the talented.

I wish I could bridge the gap of the indepth and existential notions I live and write about that so completely move and inspire me, with the ability to express them. It's starting to pain me more and more, as I embrace my grown-up self and become comfortable and content with myself while aquiring confidence to boot, that I have no outlet or way to really be expressive. I just love to read. Everyone tells me I should go write a book, but really I don't know if I ever could. Unless it was non-fiction. But I love fictional literature. The only thing I seem to be good at is articulation, what I do now in my blog and even sometimes I get lazy to write something beautiful that just melts and falls off of the tongue. And I'm not even great at that!

But then again, am I being oblivious to my own qualities? Is this blog actually considered to be a form of writing? Can this drabble that I force into my computer really be considered to be writing? (probably a skewed perception, but I've always considered writing to be like the greats- poetry and literature- That's how they move and touch our souls right?) What is it that everyone sees in me, except me? Because I can't see much of it. Everyone is always telling me how great I am and blah blah blah, but really? I don't think so. I know I'm trying, and I'm definitely trying to love myself more, but I got to tell you, it is not easy. I must really be screwed up huh? Too damaged to be fixed I always say. So damaged that I'm scared I'll infect all the normal people.

I know I am my own worst critic, but is wanting this expecting too much out of life? Maybe and probably. People always want what they can't have right? Especially since people are constantly changing whether they realize it or not, or even choose to let themselves see and understand it. Well, not everyone can be part of the cool kids club right? Haha. I have high expectations for everything, which is a trait I have come to resent for it always leads to disappointment.

I don't know if I can now, but I have decided to at least give it a try and see what comes up. (No matter how bad the poetry ends up to be) But see the thing is, I may think I am ordinary, but then I reflect back on my life and the things I have said and written (I guess blogging is a form of writing, this did begin as an experiment to see what I could come up with to expand my mind), and I know that I have always been different than others. Always the one who sticks out and freaks people out because she is dark and twisted. And we all know, the majority of the world never wants to get past the surface of people because they never want to deal with mess.

But I digress haha. Okay, I know I have always been different, or at least I have felt it. I've never fit in with my peers, ever- even in grade school and definitely never in the other grades too. I have these passions, emotions, and inspirations that are beyond strong. All of which stem from within me. I'd love a person to want to know the things I feel and believe. But people either don't really want to know that and they end up like scared sheep and run or they really just don't have the brain capacity to make it all click. (like me and my lack of talent/artistic ability) I mean there are times when I speak about these deep things, such as why I love a certain song- picking at every little specific detail and describing how it touches me and how everything works together, stuff like that- and people just can't seem to grasp or have an inkling of understanding. Language barrier- you know different brains different logics? Maybe so. Of course these things are not normal conversation and ice breaker topics haha, but what can I say? I'm too passionate for my own good. (Okay, let's not assume I'm completely conceited and ignorantly self-centered. We're all speaking earnestly and judgementally free here, if not then get the fuck out!)
And the inability to understand no matter which way I try to discuss it- you know, different approaches, really makes me wonder. I mean there are people that tell me they get it what I'm saying and understand, but you know in your mind that they really don't understand even if they themselves think they do. Eh, what are you going to do right? I know, I know, I am way too critical.

But the thing is, everyone says they're different right? Everybody wants to claim singularity and acquire their individuality badge. But if everyone's claiming it, who's to say we aren't just all the same? Who's to say that I'm not just ordinary? (oh my god, let's not get all Althusserian right now and talk about ideologies and what's the normative and the unknowing, impossible, and unsolvable issue that inevitably regenerates and just wraps around itself; the things that are that shouldn't be and the things that shoudn't should be. I know, confusing right? Sorry, have I made your brain explode? because my tongue just did a ramble haha. See what I mean about the greats? How do you even come up with theories like that?! I guess I was paying attention at university, sweet!)

Who's to say that I am really different and special and great like everyone supposedly swears me to be. What can you believe?

Anyway, back to the original purpose of this entry.
So thus, I will be taskingly trying to tackle on the scary beast process of begetting poetry. (No matter how bad it may turn out to be. Oh god, I hate reading bad poetry, it makes me want to cry like when I read mistakes on pages. Bleh, you got to start somewhere right?)

But! I will be doing so in a small notebook and not on virtually. I need some practice first. (;