Bits and Pieces

A couple of weeks ago, my college hosted a writing marathon.  I and three of my good friends formed a group that went to each of four different assigned locations around campus, and we would write for fifteen minutes at each spot.  At the end of the fifteen minutes, we would share whatever we wrote with each other- raw and unedited.  It was a lot of fun and reminded me of how much I love to write.  I actually liked a couple of the things I wrote, so I wanted to share them here.  I have not edited them at all since that day, so they cut off kind of awkwardly since I was under a time limit.  But I think, sometimes, raw and unedited is best.

This first one is about the five stages of grief, since I found myself going through them after a disappointment that I experienced about a month ago.  Though I was deeply hurt by what had happened, I didn't feel that I was really justified in being as upset as I was.  I was feeling very upset and confused, and this messy poem spilled out.

They say there are five stages of grief, but no one says when you are allowed to go through them-

Does someone have to die? Should your heart be completely broken?

Or can you just be really disappointed, devastated over words unspoken?

I don't think there's a limit to when hurt is allowed to set in,

Or an absolute moment when those five stages are justified to begin.

Some feel more than others, some feel less-

Sometimes a great capacity to love can lead to great unrest.

It all comes down to what you do with yourself

When you're lost, or hurt, or needing of help.

So where do you go when those stages begin?

This next paragraph is just a flow of thoughts.  I was sitting at the end of the bridge which crosses over "knee-deep," the pretty but murky lake on campus.  It was supposed to be an inspiring location, but I was questioning that.  My pen moved quickly across the paper, forming these words:

What even is inspiration?  Why should one thing inspire anymore than another?  Should a beautiful fountain, with its constance and flow, be any more significant than a tiny bug that floats around, defying gravity with its every move?  I think inspiration is just another word for appreciation.  Maybe if we were to more fully appreciate the beauty in things, we wouldn't struggle so much to be inspired.  Because, really, what is more inspiring than that new breath that you just took?  That breath that made your heart keep beating, your brain keep thinking, the blood in your veins keep moving?  I've heard people say to be inspired by even the simple things, and maybe I've even said that myself.  But looking around, I see nothing truly simple, and I don't think I ever have.  So, maybe, instead of being so desperate for inspiration, and prompts to the imagination, we should appreciate it all- breathe in, there you go, and think about that breath.  That's all the inspiration you need.