What am I struggling with? I’d say the biggest thing I’m struggling with is sticking specifically with a given topic. I find my topic starts out in one direction and by the time I’m finished with a given composition it headed in another direction. I’d like to stick with the topic and specific theme, but it’s a matter of becoming disciplined enough to do so.
I guess the main issue getting in the way of my staying on topic is running into personal issues plaguing my life. They somehow get mixed into the composition, but they have no place in there. Then, again, writing has always been a form of healing for me.
Getting 500 words isn’t an issue for me. I’ve been surpassing even 1000+ words per day. I build up momentum and don’t stop at all. I usually end up going off on tangents.
I find it difficult to come up with more to say. Therefore, I do end up going on in tangents about personal issues currently plaguing my life. They have absolutely no place in writing exercises I compose for the writing challenge.
I don’t procrastinate. Some days I get up later than on others, and sometimes earlier than others. However, I do manage to write the given composition and complete for the day.
I guess another issue is I have my grandmother crying from aches and pains in the background. However, such problem is nothing new. It never really hindered my writing any. During such time I’m compelled to focus even harder and deeper on my writing. I don’t know if I should start by saying what’s really on my mind or if I should write throughout the process about the topic at hand. I know I should focus on the topic assigned for today, but I can’t think of any other obstacles which I’m struggling with.
I’m running out of words to put down and stories to tell. I wish I did have more stories to share and tell. A big problem is I’ve been staying indoors throughout most of the week, due to the cold weather. Where I live here in Kalamazoo, Michigan, the streets, driveway and sideways are covered with snow. The streets are somewhat clear, with the exception of our driveway and sidewalks. My grandmother would end up slipping and sliding all around, making it difficult for us to transfer her to and from my aunt’s car.
It’s also too cold to take my grandmother out anywhere, because her age makes her prone to get pneumonia. We certainly don’t need for her to get sick and end up in the hospital.
I guess I should talk more about the issue plaguing my soul and my heart at the moment. However, I’ve been talking about it more and more each day, I don’t even know how much more it can say about it either.
I also need fresh ideas. I’m running out of them also. A big question would be where to find them.
It’s been a long lost dream as I walked upon the shores. I hoped the crystal waters would lead me into the holy light of the shining star. The sun burning up in the sky is faltered by my fall into the heaves of the sand pulling me under. My feet shorn through every pulsating beat of the waters edge.
I figure how long must the assailant who stampeded upon my soul continue to rupture the festering of the light once dwelling with my heart.
It’s the mastery of the art for the honored and the fallen, collapsing at the gates of mer where only the frigid survive in the darkness.
When shall the merciful be fed by the breadth the moon’s tongue deceives? Can I fully understand the gloating going on inside the trunk of the cave’s walls. For there are buried words of wisdom entrapped in the lungs beholding the eyes of scorn.
I’ve sworn down the mix of the slaw entrapped. However, can I wash ashore the fallacies when each torn piece of flesh burns with the embers of Hades?
Come down from the lantern forget me not to be solaced. For I wish to be recaptured by the blindness held deep for the one of the one who shall erase the burning fever. However, where the fever burns, there is no song to be sung.
I wish to weave the lining together and mend broken roads, but with each bend made to be held, there never were anymore but the acidic rains to dabble down the flesh of the flagrancies.
Doubt of the rains acting in the forge of destiny is the rescind minds lost to the perils troubled by anguished barbed. Can the famished by stolen by their eyes when their reward has been borrowed by sycamore of the dying breed?
I happen to behold the consciousness burled in my mind’s disease repairing all frolicking stances on the heart. However, where shall they belong in light withstanding entitlement.
I’m lost in the eyes of the banshee rimming through rains cleansing each borrowed night I blighted from my mirth. With every earthly vessel I ravaged perhaps my next seed of scorn shall plant itself. Where is the self? Where has its bone been burned? When shall the embodiment of the whole be emerged from the ashes darkening my spirit? I only know of each seed forsaken by the eyes which beheld them. For such eyes only burn for the blade which cut the heart’s ventricles, the lifelines binding each page together.
Electricity runs through my body when I’m washed up on the shore with no breath left inside of me. So it is the barbed wires struck by thunder colliding together to bring me back to life.
For can rage bore into a festering tunnel longing to be explored by the divider? If only the sun can rise in the darkest hour. It’s light will then cut through the smog thick with despair. I’m counted and I’m driven, but I’m not divided. For the whole of the sum is the foundation leading me up the stairway to heaven’s gates. I climb one step at a time. I keep climbing until I walk through cottony clouds. For I enter the holy realm. It’s a dream to behold; yet, I’m home where I belong.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016