Excerpts From An Unintentional Memoir - Entry#1

May 6, 2008

For years, I’ve had this same reoccurring numbness in my fingertips and I always think, “where did all the feeling go?”

I’ve felt like I haven’t written anything significant or inspiring in so long. There was a time when I’d look back on things that I had written and think to myself, “who wrote this?” and I’d believe it was a person who was on the edge of incredible - no way the author could be me.

I’d write about my daily bores and such, but there were just those times where I’d get it right. Then… I’m not sure what happened. It’s almost like those glimpses of excellence started to slowly die. Part of me is afraid that it’s escaped me completely. When was it that it happened? Am I that broken that I can’t keep up with the one thing that kept me together? I used to be so fearless, reading my words used to be like seeing me naked. Now, I feel like all I write is an itinerary.

I’ve been hurt, by people I loved so much and I think as a reflex, I hide my heart. When I take my thoughts to paper, I mirror the same trepidation. I don’t want to be hidden out of reflex.

I want passion again. About anything. On a subconscious level, I think I’ve been looking for someone to ignite that passion back into me. Or maybe it’s only I that can do it for myself.

Whether with another or singular - the question is, how?

PS.

I feel as though I have neglected the Cut & Paste Project, so I have decided to revive it for a few reasons.

I.) I’m still in that semi-uninspired “stuck" place and instead of staring at my computer screen and failing to come up with something new, I’d feel better exercising my creative muscles by combing through my personal archives and editing/adding on to something that was already there.

II.) In order for me to get more comfortable (read: less terrified) with people reading things I put my whole heart and soul to, I figured posting excerpts from my actual journals would be a good starting point.

Besides, I’ve always felt the best writing comes from a real, personal place so I’m going to go there and see what I come back with.

If you’d like to browse through what has been posted in the series so far (which is not much) you can visit my Cut & Paste tag here: http://theartofwrite.tumblr.com/tagged/Cut-And-Paste-Project

xx.

A Few Words

Let me start off by saying Thank You to those who have graced me with the kindest words of appreciation for the things I write. It certainly means a lot to me and even though I have struggled with what feels like a lifetime of writers block, I still strive to work through it and better myself as a  writer/reader.

This year I’ve made quite a bit of progress compared to where I was when I first started this blog. I managed to write my first “official” short story, I became more comfortable with poetry and was able to stumble upon a few people who have been nothing but encouraging motivators in my quest to become the writer I’ve always wanted to be. Though, I’m not quite there yet, knowing I’m on the way is good enough for me. This time next year, hopefully, I’ll be able to say I’m even closer - but for now I want to revel in the fact that I’m here, and honestly, I couldn’t have done that without you guys, so thank you.

Love & Light.

See you in 2014.

Chantel

Take you straight,
Even when we’re on the rocks.

Confinement

I need to live in a place
Where everything around me
Is bigger than I am.
I can no longer take
Watching everything I set my eyes on
Shrink under my stare.

Inspiration behind Confinement 
Photo taken by vievoyageur

Inspiration behind Confinement

Photo taken by vievoyageur

Metempsychosis

I crave things that no longer exist,
I long to return to cities I’ve never been.
Wanting to feel the comfort of feelings that never were -
Get lost in the romanticism that was almost;
Of adoration on the verge of entry,
With the ardor of someone who’s never been scarred.
Living in a new skin, unblemished,
Existant in a new body,
Free of the flaws
of loving
with heart.

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Inspiration behind Metempsychosis

Inspiration behind Metempsychosis

Redolence

I can almost smell your cologne.
You have yet to reach me,
But I’m surrounded by the aroma of you,
Wafting through the air, seducing my senses.
Lingering above me, as my head hits the pillow.

Abroad

And distance didn’t make the heart grow fonder;
Because I was so fond when he was close.
Still somehow we found ourselves in a foreign place.