How I write my Poems 01.

Previously, I published my first ever exclusive story on Vocal. My plan was to host mini poetry workshops, revealing how I replace certain words with more grappling English that bribes the reader to shovel around their thoughts. But due to the fact that I have started a job that requires me to write weekly I am going to do away with exclusive stories and just post the mini workshops sporadically here with everyone instead of having to commit to exclusive blogging.

So with that, I’ll be publishing insights for all readers. The hows and who’s of my stories. Pretty much revealing my secrets on how I write with you.

Below I have attached an exclusive and non-exclusive poem called The algorithm of my past. I am going to showcase a line by line summary of this content.

I’ve adopted the writing style of Ernest Hemingway known as the iceberg theory, something that is said to be 'the tip of the iceberg'. It means that something is only a small part of a much bigger situation. This idiom comes from the fact that only the tip of an iceberg can be seen and the rest of the iceberg, which is much larger, is underneath the water and cannot be seen.

My poems do a lot of hinting around the center, instead of portraying a black and white plot. This is why I love poetry. It leaves readers guessing and interpreting the meaning to the poem at their own demise.

Shall we begin?!

Stone-cold beauty like none other, when my eyeballs bleed I see the secrets of color.

This line packs a punch. How can beauty be stone cold?! Well it’s just that. My message is an expression of the beauty to be found in the rough edges of life. Which goes further to explain in a more vivid but figurative imagery- “when my eyeballs bleed, I see the secrets of color.”

note: Eyeballs bleeding is a term used for when someone consumes the use of psychedelics or hallucinogenic drugs such as mushrooms. It allows them to see “enhanced images of their surroundings in such a way that others can’t” which is the metaphor portrayed here. Pain has this very same access to things unseen.

Life has a morbid way of showing it, but it just does.

I see it when I’m hushed.

The first line is a blanket statement for how life is often times ‘dark’ in the way it works but that’s just how it is. It cannot be controlled. “I see it when I’m hushed” packs a punch as well. This doesn’t necessarily pertain to quietness, but the simple act of surrender. I see it when I’m not acting a fool pretty much. Which leads to the next two lines.

Disciplined fangs; Obedience in the crave.

Desert lobsters burrow in its brave.

The aesthetic of my instagram for the book that I’m writing is a cluster of random photos that feature the wild, the venomous, and the beautiful. All things that makeup a tried and perfect work in our lives. This is a spiritual message based on scripture. Thus, "disciplined fangs and obedience in the crave" is an interpretation of endurance and the refusal to succomb to the flesh. "Desert lobster burrows in its brave" represents the scorpion hiding its tail in fright.(Follow : @thediaryofanemolatina)

Sharks on dry land walk right past us, and lizards without feet run the fastest.

This is one of my clever lightbulb moments using the descriptive nature of creation in spiritual context. Sharks are the one creature we fear in the ocean. This was to make the reader question if not on a boat or on dry land, then we risk our lives swimming, but how often does that happen, in comparison to the sharks that walk among us in our daily lives? Who are your sharks?

Lizards without feet run the fastest represents how the snake works. How a creature without legs can move at an intense rate with just its slither. Its trickery.

But so are the beams of light that cradled me in the dark when I held my candle.

The poem reaches its climax with this line. Just as life’s trials come at us, so does light. Enemy vs. God here. Imagine being in a pitch black room. The power goes out. And all you have is one candle. That one little chard of light bounces its beams off the walls or whatever it touches. “Held my candle” was the empowering notion that it was mine, and its light moved over me holding my position out of the dark.

Which leads to the line of saving grace.

Thoughts that creepeth and crawl are put away forever.

Anxiety battles are defeated. And we learn from them. They are never the same battle.

The next three lines are grouped in its meaning.

The exodus of irrelevant minutes now march into its relevancy,

with the undoing of destructible calamity.

Rendering truth through the cobwebs of my youth.

Exodus, a word pertaining to the end of something, usually a war, such as an exit of an era. This references the end of all the irrelevant moments, year’s and wasted days.

You ever see an old Facebook status of your younger and destructive self and it brings you back to so much wasted embarrassment?! Well wasted no more! When what was irrelevant finds its place partaking in your relevant future nothing was ever wasted. Whether that just means growth in the tools I’ve now gathered by unlearning toxic behaviors.

The difference between spiderwebs and cobwebs is that one is no longer occupied, hence, rendering the truth of the cobwebs of my youth. Truth is found in those days that are now long gone.

We are now down to the last five lines. Are ya still with me?! Is this shedding any light on how writing your experiences work? If so, let me know your thoughts in the comments below.

Like a cool refreshment in a mirage to the past.

Patting my old self on the back,

and saying, it’s all gonna be okay.

Cool refreshments signifies the desperate need of a drink in the deserts mirage. In this picture, I’m walking within the mirage of my past, revisiting a lost girl, but knowing what she knows now, she sends a message not to fear.

The algorithm in my head is like that of an insects sting; Or the plastic part that shimmers brilliancy in a dragonflies wing.

The algorithm- things that make up my life pretty much, such as those random images that I stated earlier above, can come from sorrow or beauty.

The intricacies of creation remind me everyday of the intricacy of my hand woven life.

That’s what this poem is about.

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The algorithm of my past | Written by Natasha M. Collazo

“Stone cold beauty like none other, when my eyeballs bleed I see the secrets of color. Life has a morbid way of showing it, but it just does. I see it when I’m hushed. Disciplined fangs; Obedience in the crave. Desert lobsters burrow in its brave. Sharks on dry land walk right past us, and lizards without feet run the fastest. But so are the beams of light that cradled me in the dark when I held my candle.Thoughts that creepeth and crawl are put away forever.The exodus of irrelevant minutes now march into its relevancy, with the undoing of destructible calamity. Rendering truth through the cobwebs of my sanity and youth. Like a cool refreshment in a mirage to the past.Patting my old self on the back, and saying, it’s all gonna be okay. The algorithm in my head is like that of an insects sting; Or the plastic part that shimmers brilliancy in a dragonflies wing.”

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Thank you for reading!