Angst.

Something funny about having a writer’s brain (and heart): I know when I am sad, because it is then that I want to write poetry–almost without fail.

I’m not sure this is a good thing, considering how much angsty “free verse” poetry there is in the world already; and by this I mean all the jabber that people post on their livejournals so that they can express their feelings in a way that seems raw and artistic. Now, anyone who’s reading this and has known me for more than 5 years is laughing, presently, because those jabbery blog entries were my main gig for quite some time. I even had an account on a poetry website–where I would mingle with other inspired cyber-authors and where I wrote quite prolifically–at the age of 12. I am the self-proclaimed overly expressive poem-blogger, or, I used to be. I seem to have developed a new (and hopefully less distressing) medium these days.

Anyway, I digress.

The sadness of the oncoming summer feels like a poem waiting to be written in me. All the details of these last couple of weeks are glaringly apparent to my heart’s watchful eye. This time last year was so different, so incredibly joyous–I had no idea how long four months can feel.

So, in preparation of the poem I intend to write, I have crafted the following similes and metaphors to express the depth of my emotion. Feel free to borrow any of them for any of your romantic writing endeavors:

* The feeling inside me is like lemons, a hundred lemons, and a paper cut across my left thumb.
* You are as far away as Christmas from the middle of June, and I, a small child. It’s like you’ll never get here.
* The distance between us seems as wide as the ocean Columbus once sailed,–uncharted, and solitary. My ships are sinking.
* Time feels as slow as a turtle, walking through molasses, in a coma.
* The mail lady is like a doctor, delivering good news to a desperate patient. Your letters are the treatment; your return, the cure.

Advertisement