It's Raining Centipedes...

Woke up about an hour before my alarm was set for me to get up today and started unexpectedly writing some poem lines. That hasn't happened in a while, so I ended up feeling excited and energized enough to get up about half an hour before I had planned to so that I could try to finish the poem.

I think I finished it, but it feels even weirder and more WTF than usual and includes centipedes (among other things) and also the last collaborative poem I was working on included centipedes too, not sure where these centipedes are coming from, but at least they're not dolls (or are they?).

While working on the new weird poem, I noticed this other new poem (completed? in-progress? I don't know yet...)...that I must have written a few days ago and then forgotten about. Me and my out-of-whack brain waves, but I'm happy I have two new almost done poems and a few collaborative poems in progress and I'm sorry I'm behind on almost everything else.

Oh and I ended up incorporating a recently acquired word for a certain foot deformity into today's centipede poem, so I'm pretty sure that's something new.

Then I semi-randomly looked up centipede socks and found some.

Then it started pouring rain (and thunder and lightning) and maybe that's because my new poem is called "It's Raining Centipedes".

I also found out about Sinéad O'Connor dying (at only age 56), which makes me sad.

She was one of my favorite singers back when I was in high school (and beyond). I loved her first two albums, at the time I felt like I didn't know anyone else who was as into her music as I was, so my Dad went to one of her concerts with me. In later years, I saw her perform at one of the Lilith Fair concerts, attended with my sisters, and she was wonderful.

Sinéad O'Connor  singing Troy (Live) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1lV21J75vFE 

and so on and so forth

 I used to think that there was always a very valid and potentially powerful point to creative expression via poetry and art (and sometimes I still think so and still feel that way), but a lot of my creative expression is very personal (which I'm usually fine with, because that's how I write and create).

But lately I've been thinking that even if my poems are a meaningful form of expression for me personally, they might not have much of a larger purpose (and they're still valuable to me if they don't but...) I mean, who wants to hear a middle-aged, middle-class white woman go on and on about her body issues and her anxiety and her depression and her anger and her relationship issues and her uncertainty about whatever the heck love is and so on and so forth?

Granted, I'm technically poverty level, but I don't feel poor, so I'll always consider myself middle class. Granted, I'm technically disabled, but I don't directly focus on that in my poetry and sometimes it upsets me when people seem to encourage me to focus MORE on my disability in my poetry, because maybe I already AM focusing on it in an indirect, semi-abstract sort of way. Sometimes I think that me feeling like I barely exist and that I'm not particularly meaningful is a sort of side effect of the brain damage of my stroke, because I don't remember feeling so pointless when I was younger, but maybe I always felt that way, or maybe I would have felt that way when I got older anyway, whether or not I had undergone such a brain fluke.

But it makes me feel a bit weirdly uncomfortable if people seem more interested in my brain damage rather than my poetry - because of those two parts of my life, I most definitely prefer the poetry, whether or not it interests many others.