For a week each month she serves wine.
Apart from that her honey comes sweet and divine.
The dew of her skin ensues a dawning scent all her own
And her alimentary milk, more pure than silk
Will continue to sprout the future.
Holding the seed of life
she secretes sacred substances.
Reflective of nature's gifts
is to nurture.
Mostly in a state of existential crisis, wrapped up in my own mind and in the thoughts that weigh heavy through cyclical depression. Thoughts consisting of anxiety and unhappiness about school, society, humanity, the world, the waste, the ignorance, and my own inner conflicts of knowledge and memory cause constant yearning to exist in a more positive and productive state. My writing through this time has reflected the tendencies I have to think too much, my resolution being through doing art and through connecting with nature. My writing process is usually different every time. Sometimes by compiling small phrases I’ve jotted down in my notes, other times by writing stream of consciousness, and others are more about what word sounds intrigue me. I have found that my writing reads best when I utilize all of these tactics together.