I tell you, we are here on Earth to fart around, and don’t let anybody tell you different.
Anonymous: I appreciate the honesty and confrontational style of your writing, how you have no qualms about discussing intimate, personal topics for the sake of your artistry and self expression. Have you always been able to do that? And if not, how did you overcome your fears? I am curious as this is something I am trying to improve upon in my own writing. Sometimes I censor myself for the sake of shyness.
It’s a constant struggle, but I think art’s biggest strength is that it tells the truth. If you want to be an artist, you have to be brutally honest with it-and yourself-and pour yourself into it. Otherwise, why create?
I overcame (and am still overcoming them, don’t get me wrong) my fears with a lot of worry and the decision that if I was going to make something, I had to pour myself into it. This is what I want to devote my entire life to and I think, to be a good writer, you have to decide if it is the most important thing to you. It’s not easy to bleed onto a page every day, but if it was you want, then there’s no other option. I think writing-and any art-is a very lonely pursuit, but I stand behind what Bukowski said: “unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don’t do it. unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don’t do it.” (Read the rest of "so you want to be a writer")
A good support system is a blessing because not only is writing lonely, it can also be emotionally draining (reliving the past is not a walk in the park). If I’m uncertain about a poem, I send it to my best friend, who always convinces me to put my fear aside for the sake of art. Art comes first, above everything. I get shaky when people read what I write, especially when they know me in real life, but it’s also thrilling, because I feel like a weight has been pulled off of me when I finish a poem and I can finally breathe. Give it a shot. Let Ernest Hemingway’s words be a guide: “Write hard and clear about what hurts.”
Lora! I'm so glad to have found you in the tumblr world. I just wanna say I love your writing, it's astounding. I'm going to follow your poetry blog as well, it's simply too good not to :)
This was wonderful to wake up to. Thanks, sweets
Anonymous: write about falling in love? only if you want to
I want to. Everything I’ve written about it is cliched. I’ll write about love even though I’m nowhere near in it.
Anonymous: do you write about real people? like in the poem you just posted, the sad-eyed boy. did you break his heart?
Awwww. They’re usually inspired by real people, but not necessarily based on them. In that case, I don’t know. I hope not. It wasn’t like it was in the poem!
I am kissing you in countries
that have not been named yet.
I slide between the dips of your navel
and the swoops of your collarbone
to stay dizzy all day long.
We are using each other to avoid growing old.
So I ask you,
be young with me forever.
We can call each others’ wrinkles ‘love lines’
and count them like rungs on a tree
to figure out how many years we’ve
been avoiding dying together.
We can stay in bed until our white hair is
a wispy reminder of who we used to be.
You’ll live forever with your
eyes wide and a child smile because
I’ll never see you any other way.
I do all the things you used to hate. I dye my hair colors that make the church ladies stare. I go to bed without dinner and subside entirely on air. I make tea and pour cream in after. I give up reading. I give up The Beatles. I never eat another plate of scrambled eggs. I shape myself into someone you would dislike. My speech sharpens. My teeth turn to fangs. I let go of the softness that drew you to me. My fingernails itch to become claws and I don’t fight it. This is what it takes to survive. I let people into my bed that I would have walked right past with you. He is sad-eyed and needs my flimsy paper wrists to support him. I pour every late night with you into him, until he says, ‘I love you, I love you’ and I say, ‘Shh, you’ll ruin the fun.’ I do what it takes to forget you, and at the end, have more bruises than the ones I started with, but I can finally look at a sunset and not feel anything at all.