Inspire Me
#22 of National Poetry Writing Month
Some call it a muse. Some call it that voice in their head that pops up when they get a great idea for something. I just call it my inspiration. Specifically as it applies to my writing and poetry.
How does your inspiration strike?
Does it brush your attention like the rustling of wind through the trees?
Does it tap steadily at the windows like a light rain on a cloudy day?
Does it knock harshly at the door or stand by patiently as you push it aside to attend to other matters?
My inspiration is a whirlwind. A tornado. An earthquake. A lightning bolt that crashes down three feet from where you are standing leaving you breathless and excited with fear and adrenaline.
My inspiration does not knock lightly or stand by patiently. No it slams open the door and races inside letting lose a constant stream of words before I can even begin to grasp what's going on.
I shoves aside all other cares and rips away whatever I have in my hands. It ignores all pleas I have about anything else and it forces me to pay attention.
It clears out any other thoughts or tasks and slams down its book full of ideas and theories with such relish and such enthusiasm that I cannot help but be captivated by its pride and satisfaction.
My inspiration does not whisper, it ROARS. It screams, it cries, it pounds at the door of my attention so loudly that I cannot accomplish anything until I first give it my full attention.
It refuses to be ignored and it works tirelessly in the background even after I am finally able to work again.
It writes itself in the pages of books and on the screens of tv shows. It whispers to me through the words others speak and write and it sings through the music filling my ears.
My inspiration comes not with a polite call for attention but with selfish demands and an insistence that I give it my exclusive devotion whenever it deems necessary to drop by.
My inspiration is all consuming.
And it supports me like nothing and no one else.
My inspiration refuses to be insulted. Mocked. Put down. Bullied. Disrespected. Abused. Reviled.
It will claw and tear and rip apart any who dare to say that it is not good enough. That I am not good enough.
It points out the flaws in my writing not to tear me down but to tell me that next time it will be even better than before.
It refuses to let me sit in misery or wallow in discouragement.
It believes that all obstacles can be overcome with enough will power and perseverance.
It will not allow me to listen to anyone who would tell me that my writing is not good enough.
My inspiration is loud. Demanding. Overzealous. Confident. Proud. Arrogant. It changes it's mind all the time and loses interest all to quickly sometimes.
But it has never let me down and it will never allow me to give up.