Poetry

  I was going to write a poem today.  I've been thinking about it all day, but I've tried this evening to get something down, and the ideas just won't write themselves.  I guess I'm not as creative as I used to be, now that I'm happy, my poetry brain has given up.  I don't know if thats a good thing, when I read back on some of the stuff I used to write, I go cold.  My state of mind is written down on the pages for everyone to see, and some of it is scary stuff.  I don't think I want to be back there again, and if losing a bit of talent is the price I have to pay for not being scary anymore, then so be it.  I miss some of it tho, some of the stuff I wrote wasn't scary, but it was quite good...only from my point of view, if I like it then I don't care what anyone else thinks...
  Except I suppose, deep down, if I let anyone else read any of my poems, I would care what they thought about them, which is probably why no one reads them, they are locked away in a box out of sight of the world.  It's likely that that is where they will stay too, safe from criticism.