life

blogging is stupid. i honestly don't know why i even write anymore. i am not at all creative unless im severely depressed. in other words, i write the best when i am miserable on the inside. i mean, a lot of the time i wouldnt feel unhappy but there was still that thin veil of dissatisfaction with something in my life. im still not sure what that 'something' was, but it sure compelled me to express myself through poetry and art, a compulsion which i have not felt for a very long time. so what is the point of writing anymore, if my poetry has gotten worse and worse since i have found more and more reasons to be happy?

sometimes i wish i could go back. being a struggling creative soul is better than having a soul that cannot create anything beautiful. a soul without the ability to create is a soul devoid of beauty.