i want to be artistic

over the course of time, i’ve slowly realized that my need,  nay, quest, for new words, is an erroneous one.

see, this feeling of discontent started in senior year when i began to question this order/hierarchy of life that i had so carefully crafted for myself throughout the years of watching sitcoms and movies and other hollywood cliches. i turned to poetry not because i was sad and in need of better friends, but because i was angry and in need of actual friends. i turned to words because they were the safest, they were the things that i connected with simply because they helped me escape a world of confusion.

the deeper i delved though, the higher i scaled this mountain in search of poetic nirvana, the more i realized how discontent and disillusioned i was. not simply because it made for better poetry, but because the words i wrote, often in varying degrees of temperaments, were essentially… devastatingly temporal.

no, in fact to say they are temporal even, would be too kind. they are… egregious. only because they lack any actual truth or meaning.

they are…
an embarrassment, really, because in my quest to achieve poetic nirvana, i had forgotten the most fundamental necessity. in my search for new words, i had forgotten, quite simply that… it’s not the words that count, it’s the message. and the past few years of mindless, teenage rebellion, i had written in anger, in lust, under influence of alcohol, in pain and i’ve written sob stories thinking i’d captured my painful past, thinking i’d written a painful coalition of truth and betrayal and pain and love, thinking i’d discovered the meaning behind my words when… the truth is… i’ve never truly written. 

and by God, is there a difference!
is there is a difference between living and life. The subtle differences between truth and fact. and… and… and… all the aimless, lost words that swirl through my soul creating this creative havoc within me, leaving me brimming with youthful hope and to realize that it’s all potential. that it’s neither real nor false nor truth nor lies, not anything really because…

i haven’t lived enough. the only words i have are the words i believe in. and the truth is that… i’ve been saying i need new words for so long when really… all i’m in need of is substance.

but how do you find that?

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