I Write Again! (Though Perhaps Not Yet in a Functional Context)

Wednesday I realized I'd written three not entirely terrible poems within 24 hours. In comparison with my poetry productivity (OH GOD I EVEN MAKE USE OF LITERARY ELEMENTS IN REAL LIFE HOW COOL AM I) for the rest of this past school year, I'm beginning to suspect this may be evidence that I'm metamorphosing into Ezra Pound, or at least someone who actually shows evidence of writing and doesn't just claim they're "living their life" to build up passions and ideas for future pieces.

I feel less guilty now that I've written something that I don't want to rip out of my notebook merely so I can eat it and feel the satisfaction that it is dying slowly in the torturous juices of my stomach only to end its short crappy life in irony.

Which isn't to say I'm not still retaining a horrible amount of guilt in life. Just, at least now it's mostly centered on how I haven't cleaned my fish's tank since I filled it or even given it a real name when I've owned it for three weeks. I feel guilty cause I know I'd be mad about living in my own poop, too, you sad identity-less fishy.