Poetry three weeks in a row… what the fuck, man?
I know, I know, the sentient Guise has been absent for nearly a month now, instead replaced by a number of poetic short verses. How dare I stay away for so long, taking the easy way out by sharing works that are old and already written.
Construction, Pressure, and Nights for Knights were all works from a time well before now. A time that as much as I’d like to, I don’t really remember much about. It’s not some suppressed memories deal, but more so that I’ve just got a terrible memory. These pieces were from another time, a time when I was enveloped by completely different set of stimuli, challenges, muses, thoughts, feelings, and anxiety.
And only recently did I find these. Once locked away only to be found if I passed, a legacy I thought which was worthwhile sharing in the afterlife, only. But that was fear. Fear that maybe I wasn’t good at this writing thing. It was safer.
Whilst I recognise that it may seem like I’ve been taking the easy way out just to keep on track for this goal of weekly updates (which i guess is partially true, I’m not going to pretend to be some sort of delusional, all-wise, martyr), I’ve realised that sharing this work is important.
Writing was my escape, a coping mechanism to deal with what I felt was an existence of isolation and anxiety. But I can’t sit here today and tell you what I was thinking, what I was specifically dealing with, what had sent me into a particular frame of mind, but my writing can get pretty damn close to it.
So I’ve decided to share with people now, rather than later, and on occasions, I’ll dig up some pieces from another time.
Heck, they may still even be relevant.