Hello, Ynetsoh, I have a few moments and since I admire your work, I'll try to answer this; mind you, I still don't know where the words come from-most of my poems are done extemporaneously, without planning, and without revision.A recipe for disaster for good poetry.) I'll wake in the morning, knowing I had posted a poem last thing at night, and wonder if it was good, not remembering a word of it. Sometimes it is so bad I cringe. At times, it is good enough for inner praise, but not to myself, but rather to that power that allows me to draw words from the ether.
Not to say, that it does not take effort- I have broken my heart on many a poem, and had to pick myself up again, and try to express that particular feeling or view,and still not be able to do it.The changes of the seasons here in Alaska have taken reams of paper, but nothing suffices still.
I would say thru such and such a time of trial and dedication, a writer begins to embody the belief, that, "Even if all the world says your wrong, that still doesn't make it true." One must be able to say the truth, even if no one sees it yet. Even now, my mind is turning on how to make this a poem. It is always so with a true poet or writer. All is fair game, we grind the gristle with the fat. it's life, and our job is to describe it, define it, shine a light on our most darkest impulses, and shine a light as well, on our very best selves. Does that help? Love yaz, lily