The last time I tried to write, this, like everything else, appeared to be fruitless in the end. Much of my life's multifarious goals appear to end up wallowing in the mud, like pigs finally realizing they never were adorable lambs. I tried writing, but got lost in the words. I never could find enough to say to keep myself, or others had they discovered my journey, interested. I get sidetracked, ramble, use poor choices of diction all for the sake of colloquial and formal experimentation. I alliterate, consonate, and attempt to make my prose poetry, and my poetry music. In the end, it turns out to be just poor prose, with limping poetic meter and rhyme with the rhythm of a badly sprung horse. Grammar never was my strongest point either, as can be clearly seen.
I tried art, but couldn't keep the musical muses happy, and every attempt at a studio art appeared to be an accidental conglomeration of color, and the shade of a third grader pretending they have a coloring book, but not knowing quite where the lines would be in their imagination.
Someday, I hope to be like Trapis. Broken feet, dying legs, endless love, and a perfect heart. I just hope that I have better stories.
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