There are moments (few, admittedly; far between, definately) where I am able to express myself in a way that is poetic. I can evoke mental imagery and verbal mastery that paints a mental picture, even sings a mental song, for people reading my words. I am capable of occasionally writing things that even I think are beautiful.

I have trouble, however, writing these thoughts into poetry. Something about poetry, perhaps the brevity or the fluidity, scares me. I was once able to write a poem easier than I could say my name, but I heard enough pratter about bad teen poetry that I shoved the desire to write poems in the back of my head, dismissing my thoughts as "childish" and "shallow." Were they? I don't know.

I started writing prose then, pages and pages of essay and short stories. Pages of thoughts that could not be easily classified, except maybe as rants or thought associations. Really, they were just words following words.

I became very, very wordy (clashing horribly with my training as a journalist). I became comfortable in the world of the essay, of the rambling artist with lots of time to make her point.

I am not sure I am able to write poetry anymore.

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