Poetic Explosions

Dear Diary,

There was once a time when I was booming with poetry.

It would suddenly fly from my.

It was a different sort of writing.

It was less analytical.

It was whimsical.

It embraced metaphor and it rarely made sense.

But it felt expressive in the strangest ways.

I would suddenly become this symbolic beast.

I would walk through dark homes.

And beasts would devour me alive.

I vowed to be weird and I let it happen.

I drank and I exploded.

Expression was particularized all the time.

I was ready to say everything without categorizing.

I was eager to press beyond labels.

And to understand myself in those ineffable and sublime ways.

I'm not quite sure what happened.

I lose myself in my analysis.

My categories swallow me up and I let them take me through them.

I wonder if this can signify a return to more particularized and metaphorical expression.

It feels like a step in the right direction.