You reminded me that I’m not alone, While believing that no one shared your pain. You lifted my spirits, When yours were low. You showed me that I was loved, But you thought you were unlovable. You are why I am still here, I want you to believe all the things that you made me see.
So, I started taking poetry prompts again, in an effort to get myself to start writing again/more. If you’d like to be an inspiration for me, leave me a comment with a single word, phrase, or thought. I’ll think about it, and craft a poem from it. Then I’ll post that poem on here and release it into the Public Domain.
I’ll cop to it. I’m an actor, a poet, a photographer, a writer. If I made time to study them properly and practice I’d be a musician and an artist as well.
Yes, I use these creative outlets to explore life outside my tiny world. Yes, I use them to express myself within my abilities. Yes, these creative outlets are fulfilling in and of themselves and I will continue to explore them and be creative with or without an audience.
There is nothing quite so exuberantly thrilling as getting feedback. Like applause, when I’m acting; or likes/loves/comments on things I’ve posted online. Even a critique, telling me what I can do better.
You took the time to appreciate what I’ve created. That is a powerful thing. I appreciate every single click, whether it’s a comment, critique, or like.
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: ’tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there’s the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there’s the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th’oppressor’s wrong, the proud man’s contumely,
The pangs of dispriz’d love, the law’s delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th’unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere’d country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.
Click the link to see mine at the website and/or to make your own. Caveats: The sliders do not work on mobile last time I tried, but it seems there may have been some updates, so maybe they work now, I don’t know. Additionally, while I absolutely LOVE the idea and concept, those of us that are more fluid may have some trouble trying to decide whereto place the sliders. I certainly did. I kind of used the gender identity and expression sliders to approximate the likelihood of a given state, more or less.