Creatrix

As a creator of many mediums, sometimes I need a break from it all. Writing poetry has been my longest form of art, the one that's stuck with me through the years.

The poetic language can come easy to me, but sometimes my mind is empty of words and prefers that I express in a different way, or not all. In times like these I have many different things to choose from. My main other art form at this time is sewing, maybe mostly because I am around my mom a lot now and we sew together.

The different art forms can bring different emotions for me. When I paint, I feel content as my brush glides across a canvas. Though, if you were to watch me, you may think I'm upset due to the (grumpy?) look on my face, but I swear, I'm in high spirits, as long as you leave me be.

With sewing, my face may be blank, but there is a slight underlying of frustration when the fabric slips or the stitch skips. My sewing machine does not work very well, which makes me annoyed. My mom has allowed me to use one of her sewing machines and the difference makes the process easier, which means less annoyance.

My favorite place to be is when I play music. The vibration of the sound bowls and tuning forks, the ring of the gong, the plucking of different stringed instruments. That is what soothes my soul, brings me peace and serenity. Music is my soul.

Art is my soul.

When I write, I often feel nothing, which is ironic since most of my poetry is embracing emotion. There was one time recently I allowed myself to feel what I was writing while writing it. The pain twisted into the words as I become what I was writing.

Recently I've been visualizing, seeing in my mind's eye and then writing what I see, this wasn't a choice, it was just something that happened.

Somewhere between my school work and finding my art again after being numb for so long, my mind opened up in a new way. I've been guided through visualization in counselling over the years, and I've been able to dip back into those places, but it is not often that I wrote in those spaces, not poetry anyways.

Take for instance the following, that I wrote back in 2021:

Forest Fairy 🧚🏼‍♀️

Growing up I always saw the story about following a path and when you get to a certain point there's a fork in the road. But when I arrived there, there wasn't just 2 paths to choose from, there was many, and it made me dizzy. I came to realize that the path I chose wasn't the right one, and many more paths peered around the corner, it was like an endless mind game. But I started to wander off the paths and deep into the forest, though I didn't get lost because that's where I felt most comfortable. I knew that if at any point I felt uncertain or lost, the sky would show me where to go, the wind would guide me and the trees would open up a space. Nobody told me this, they all said to follow the path, but the path was where I was lost, the path left me confused and scared, I didn't belong on a path.

When I was young I often traveled within the confines of my parents farm, I went down the roads and pathways, but I also found myself wandering into the forests, picking raspberries from the random bushes scattered throughout. It felt freeing to be there, it wasn't always easy to get through, but it was where I felt most at home.

I kept being veered back onto the path. They kept throwing things at me, trying to lure me in. I felt like I was being buried alive, every choice I made seemed bad. I found myself lost in a sea of people aimlessly following the path with their heads down, I knew I needed to get out of there. The only way off the path was through the woods, so I made a dash for it, as soon as I passed the tree line I felt free. I went deep into the woods knowing where each step was taking me, I could finally see where I was going. People called out to me, saying I was lost, telling me to come back, but the chipper of birds started to drown the voices out. I came up a river, the rushing waters carried me to a haven, uncharted lands, the beauty was undeniable. But I knew I needed to keep going, leaving the place untouched seemed important. And still I look to the sky to show me the way, the wind to guide me and the trees to point me in the right direction.

I travel through the forest, this is where I belong, this is my home.

While writing this, I could visually see every step that I was writing about. The journey started after I did a photoshoot in the snowy forest with my dear friend.

I've been writing for a long time, I write differently now than I did when I was 12. When I was younger, I would write my poems fast, without even thinking about what it was saying, it was an instant flow that came out. Though most of those ones are full of darkness, death, destruction, etc. etc...

The only time now that I don't think about what I'm writing is when I do Stream of Consciousness poetry, which happens to be one of my favorites, because it feels so effortless. The thoughts that follows the first flows out and whatever comes out is what it is, the ending comes when the thought ends and my mind goes blank.

I can't write right now, not because my mind isn't working. More because my mind is on school work and the big paper and group project that we just started working on. I never thought I would enjoy school after everything that happened in grade school and even in my first round of college. I do though, my cohort is full of amazing humans, the instructors are awesome, and the course work is interesting.

When people say: "I've found my people," I can relate when it comes to nerding out with my classmates and when I'm on vocal reading other peoples poetry or stories.

However, to me, it all seems very fleeting, and maybe that is because I never stay.

Poetry will always be a part of me, this I can never leave behind.

I am ever changing, ever moving, ever evolving. Ebbs, flows, changes, grows.

What I write will shift in and out, sometimes I'll write lots, sometimes I write nothing at all. Once and a while, I'll write something like this, that's just...

thoughts on a page.

See you all soon 🩶