Coming Back

Roses are red
Violets are blue
I can't believe I'm on this blog
After an absence of two

....years.

Well, not a perfect rhyme scheme, but its the best I've got. I've used up all of my creative energy attempting to write a sonnet, which seems really simple.

Until you actually sit down to do it.

I love poetry, love it with all my heart. I write poetry frequently. I read it all the time. But something about sonnets, something about having to write a certain way drives me bonkers. And it blocks any creativity that might have otherwise been flowing forth like my nephew after too much chocolate.

The first problem is finding something worth writing about. Because frankly, I don't want to write about nature, or romance.
So what? What do I want to write about? I can't write about school--it would turn into a psychotic rant about taking too many classes and getting back aches from my two ton back pack. And as hilarious as I may find it, I'm not sure my English teacher would appreciate it.

If I write about family, I'll end up complaining about how my grandmother gets up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom directly above my bedroom. Soon to be followed by some chaotic scribblings about my dog, who was last seen attempting to bury her bone in my foam mattress.

Theatre would be fun, until I remembered all the hours I've spent not sleeping because of it. I could talk about the day my friend had a drill bit driven into her hand, but somehow, I'm not sure anyone but another techie would find that funny.

And after I've gone through the exhausting process of picking a topic, I have to make it fit either the Shakespearean, Spenserian, or Petrarchan format. I can spout out poetry all day, but making sure everything fits just right kind of makes me want to pull my hair out.

I want my sonnet to be something I can share with the class (though its doubtful I ever will). I want to be proud enough of my creation that when I'm done reading it, I feel comfortable showing it to my friends. I want what I write about to be personal, something that is important to me. But I also want others to be able to read it, and enjoy it. I don't want people to come away totally confused by what they just read. This sonnet will probably never be read by anyone but my teacher, but I still want it to be something I'm proud enough of to send off to a contest, should the desire to do so ever arise.

Part of me just wrote down all of this to complain about doing work (something you'll notice about me: I do a lot of complaining). But another part of me sincerely hopes that someone will post here, and give me an idea before I go mad.