Writing Workshop- Using Colors on a Paint Chip (purples, timed 5 minutes)

Newport breeze.

We were peering over stone walls with Gatsby to our backs. The waves collided with granite, or I think it was granite, I wasn’t paying attention because my eyes only alternated between you and the cave below, with shadows of purple, ranging from Naples Sunset to Rock Harbor Violet.

The hydrangeas tickled our arms as we leaned further, joking about hitting the water. Or I think they were hydrangeas, I don’t know my flowers and my arms were alternating between the coldness of the shaded stone and the heat of your skin brushing mine.

It was an ocean but I treated it as God’s wishing well, and I wished we would come here again, only there would be spring lilacs because it would be March. Or I think they would be, I don’t know, my mind is alternating between this idea, and the fantasy of being yours forever.

The Story Behind My “Raps”

So I guess I should provide some background on the plethora of rhymes I’m about to upload.

I had a bad year once, a really tough time. All I’m going to say is that it was a tough time, I’ll let the past speak for itself. What you must know is I changed my environment, got a lot stronger/fixed some things and went through some processing. A year of complete change and a 180 degree turn followed this bad year. During this period of thriving (or during the buildup, rather) one of my healthier coping mechanisms began when I started essentially creatively rhyming my problems. So like stream of consciousness poetry, or rapping. I would whip out my phone and process on a subject, and maybe then it magically became about five…

Anyway. I wrote these raps. I found out that the way for me to address shameful topics and feelings tied to the past I was trying to grow out of was to have words be molded in such a way that gave me pride in my work.

I wrote these when my bad year was decelerating, or on the threshold of being really old news. It was during the transition to a new place, after having left things behind or gotten left behind. So I wrote these a long time ago, at a point of regaining strength, not at my ultimate weakness. I never edited, just typed for as long as I could (essentially freestyle), and let my metaphors do what they could. It wasn’t for anyone but myself.

I sent these to my good friend, the first person I ever shared any writing with (much less this personal). This was awhile after I wrote them. This friend told me they were good and truly praised my work, which made me feel like I should keep going and put them somewhere someday. He put every individual rap I sent him on one document called: “[my name] Anthology”. I wrote a couple more while he was around and sent them to him for approval. He’s the best. I don’t know what I would do without him.

Later a coworker suggested making a blog. So here I am. There is a high chance nobody will ever be given the URL. If they are, then it means I’m mature and I will not focus on criticism, because that’s not what this is about.

Now for timeline., I’ll try to upload in order of when each one was written. My personal favorite is “optimism is a t shirt”, that was one of the later ones. The original was “tongue tied”. My most recent, “carbon copy” was on a much more positive note, and I will write about that separately because it really is on a separate plane for me. Maybe one day if tons of people read them and want explanation, I can talk about that. Maybe one day I’ll have more ideas regarding what to blog about.

But for now, my angsty stream of consciousness will be uploaded unapologetically. For the purpose of putting my words somewhere, and for the purpose of salvaging pride in something only I do. This is one thing that is 100%, raw, me. Flaws, conflicts, trophies, take it as you want, but it’s authentically me in a period of time where had these words not been in a semi poetic form, they would’ve be buried in regret.

So welcome to a piece of my brain. It’s so hard to write without wanting to form an impression, but that’s the thing. It is utterly impossible for me to convey myself wholly how I want people to see me. So this blog is an attempt to let go of the obsession of self definition and self comfort. Here is something I wrote, that is all.