Everybody wants to be a poet

▶ Everybody wants to be a cat – The Aristocats

Words might help when communicating, but music is on a whole new level.

Poems save my soul and writing them lift the weight of it I have to carry everyday. They’re my touchstone, my benchmark, my compass. Having written almost 20 poems in less than 16 years of life probably doesn’t make me a poet, I’m too young and inexperienced. Maybe one day I will, but who knows… this competition is ruthless. Everybody wants to be a poet and thinks they actually are. So, that begs the question: what makes you a poet and, above all, what makes you better than another one?
I guess it depends on the readers. What can make someone feel something, isn’t sure to be making another person feel the same. People are so changeable and fickle, different.

Well, of course, you can base your criteria to judge who’s the best in this area by analyzing the form, the external appearance of their poems: but, big news for the ones who loves to write prose and their idea of poem isn’t stuck in the 14th century with Chaucer, poets stopped caring about how a poem is formally written since last century. You can literally say “The sun is shining and the sky is blue” and, if you give it a title and decide that’s a poem, it is. Isn’t that terrific? 

Well, not really. At least, not in my opinion. I take the view that poems are made for those who are truly willing to understand them, not for those who need to learn them because their English teacher told them to. The world of poetry is a world apart and, call me selective, for the chosen few only. You don’t need Jesus from the Heavens to be told that you’re one of them, you just need to attend to it the majority of your time. It needs to be your passion, what makes you truly feel, what you live for and of, basically. I don’t think I’m being too exaggerated because that’s what I do on a regular basis.

Poetry is silent, something which involves your mind, your soul, your heart, and only eventually your fingers (to hold your pen). Poetry doesn’t need advertising. Poetry is innate, but needs to be understood and supported by whom believes in its power.

In conclusion… okay, write a few verses and fill your Instagram bio with terms such as poet , living for poetry, etcera… But don’t expect to be taken seriously.

@layalke 🐍

Dans un café

In a café. That’s where it all started and it all ended: poor Mademoiselle Charlotte had been left alone once again, sat on the narrow and uncomfortable couch, facing that rounded glass filled with a high-alcoholic drink. She didn’t even remember what she had ordered but it didn’t matter anymore because she didn’t care; and she hated herself for it. She had always been the “special” girl, the “different” and “unique” one. Also “lunatic” and “insane”, but she preferred taking them as compliments: at least she was not like any other woman!

But now, sat on that wretched couch, facing her forgotten drink, Mademoiselle Charlotte was just like any other person in that café: lost but not confused, tired but not exhausted, angry but not evil. 

She didn’t care about anything going on anymore and pretended not to notice even when a gentleman sat just next to her, with a pipe between his lips, a bushy and dingy beard and wearing a wrinkly bowler hat.

Madame… are you all right?”

Mademoiselle, s’il vous plaît.” She said, keeping on looking at the void.

Desolé. You look suffering. Are you sure everything is fine?”

Non, monsieur. Nothing is fine, but I would be surprised otherwise. Would you leave me alone now?”

The man stood up and angrily mumbled something about how her supposedly unsatisfactory intimate life was not a pretext for her to be such a hateful and unfriendly mademoiselle. Pas vraiment française.

Charlotte sighed and went back to her thoughts, which weren’t actual thoughts, but she’d rather desire them to be. She, educated and cultured, needed to think all the time. She was different.

Was she, actually? Julien, her last lover, had abandoned her just like he did to any other woman he had. That made her one of the many. They had met in that classy café a couple of hours before, he had told her those cliché excuses and, after an hypocrite kiss on her cheek, he left. She hated herself and she hated him. He made her realise that, after all, she was not so special.

@layalke 🐍

I can’t write

▶ Writing’s on the wall – Sam Smith

Words might help when communicating, but music is on a whole new level.

Being told once I’d got a bad writing was not a big deal. Being told twice started to get on my nerves; then the third, fourth, fifth and so on were a little bit of a bitter pill to swallow, especially because I know that the world of writing is my world, the world I belong to. The logic and reasonable part of my brain has always told me not to focus on the people who send me such bad vibes, but you’ll understand it when I say that it’s really hard.

A short time ago, one of my teachers told me: “If you didn’t write interesting texts, I wouldn’t even read your essays”. Well, ok, thank you?! What am I supposed to say?

Lately this has effected my creativity in a way I didn’t think was possible. I consider myself to be quite a calm and sensible person, therefore that logic and reasonable part of my brain I quoted before is the one I trust and use the most; but, as childish as it is, I cannot avoid to take this personally. 

I’m trying my best, believe me, mostly because I know that my writing could affect the mark of my essays, but I don’t feel motivated at all. I like my tiny and uptight writing, and you know me, I’m not going to change something I don’t mind about myself just because a few people do

At the end of the day, I am the one who stays alone with my words only, with those words that are apparently so hard-criticized but save me, in a way; when the words you write are what helps you go through the day without a mental breakdown, you get so attached to them that you consider them to be a part of yourself, part of who you are and who you will ever be. Now you understand how important this blog is to me; it represents my freedom when it comes to writing.

Let me write what I want, let me write as I want; I’m not asking for anything else. And, if you won’t, I will anyway. 

@layalke 🐍