#brokenbrushpoetry

[brokenbrushpoetry]

i've been teaching horror and the atmosphere of terror to my students and a boy asked what my biggest fear is so i lied and said being buried alive struggling through those final moments, the anxiety of a confined space nails etching apologies into my face inches from the wood as i hyperventilate through all the mistakes i wish i could retrace and chances i was too late on, but i'm more afraid i don't need to wait, that i'm already digging -

J.S. -i should have said clowns- http://brokenbrushpoetry.tumblr.com/

[brokenbrushpoetry]

Hello; I've been around since the beginning, and I must say that your art is amazing. You are likely my favourite living poet and quite possibly my favourite of all time. You have this sort of combination of raw emotion and elegance that doesn't seem to exist anywhere else, at least not anywhere else that I've found. My own works came to a screeching halt some time ago, because I for so long I had been fueled by negative emotion. When I found my peace, I lost a part of my inspiration, but (1/2)

Thank you. I’ve been rewriting responses since I first read this, and everything I can think of feels so pathetic in comparison.Thank you. This is more heartwarming than anything I have ever read about my writing, or about me.You are a tremendous person. And I appreciate it, with all of my heart.This next one was only written with the courage you just gave me. Thank you.

[brokenbrushpoetry]

months at the mouth of madness in a poetry riddled mattress, puzzles of forgotten verses trying to find the purpose in replacing ripped sheets, cigarette burns of improvised satin incense to erase that last crease of you, a smoke immune scent immortalized as the heat and wisp hit my lips and i taste you all over again -

J.S. - breathless - http://brokenbrushpoetry.tumblr.com/

[brokenbrushpoetry]

27 and somehow still alive despite all the times i’ve put myself in front of the pen trying to confront the truth of who i’ve been, complicit in countless sin, dodging photographs cause they’re evidence of the decadence, her paragraphs on my skin that the pen can’t spin, everybody wants to be poetry but on my body, and the lines aren’t ever pretty, compilation of composition from a thousand nights with dirty hands, my body of work, heartbeat a punctuation mark, pauses in the ink till the flows stop and the last period sink to the aorta, composition till decomposition, the last of her oxygen, vena cava starts to suffocate, stories from studs disintegrate, collapsed artery - - carrion - http://brokenbrushpoetry.tumblr.com/ redo as text so i can actually do the font properly

[brokenbrushpoetry]

I say that I have bad months, But that's far from the truth, They're all bad, Happy birthday sweetheart, I miss you.

J.S. - 3 years old - Brokenbrushpoetry.tumblr.com

[brokenbrushpoetry]

It's hard to love myself When the only physical copy of me Is forgotten on the floor instead of displayed proudly on a shelf, Careless feet to tread on hopes and dreams letting the binding and seam Fall loose in forsaken misery, I don't know why I let you buy Me -

J.S. Brokenbrushpoetry.tumblr.com

[brokenbrushpoetry]

Do you look back on your poems and think "This is really shitty.."? You probably don't. But I do whenever I look back on my prose. I sometimes feel that there is no point in writing, if I can't create something I am satisfied with...

So here is the thing with my writing. I have two mindsets when I come to it.There are days when I, if I have to, cause I hate re-reading my work, that I despise it. I go through a judgmental process and can’t really find anything that has any demonstrable value, or shows any sign of quality writing.Then there are days when I read it and remember what I’m talking about and I feel…the story again. I’ve always told people I write like a conversation, like a monologue, because I believe my writing is more designed on the structure of a story. A lot of poetry I read has the value of not needing to follow a story structure, so it can be about absolutely anything. I have to take what I have experienced and demonstrate the value of it.It’s like… starting at opposite ends. Other poets know what value they are writing about when they create the poem.I know what part of the story I’m in and let the values emerge naturally, as  best as I can.A friend of mine is confused by this process and when we recently talked about the process of writing something else, a play - she listed all the necessary steps to develop one. The structure.I could follow. But my mind couldn’t develop anything.But when I started talking to myself in the car on the ride home, suddenly I had a million ideas and couldn’t help but begin writing instinctively.Know your strengths and use them. Don’t try to force yourself into styles that aren’t your’s.I have never felt like my writing is done for personal satisfaction.I have written for therapeutic senses, to get myself through difficult times, and I have written to explore memories and sensations. It’s to better my understanding of my life. It’s not about… satisfying myself because of the quality.I think I’ve accepted that my writing won’t even be “perfect” in regards to structure, or style, or by any measure really.So I stopped pushing for it, and started pushing inward instead. I don’t want to find perfect. I’d rather find me.