A Portrait of Self Psychoticism (Prose)
Introduction: Proofread? My Explanation of Why Poetry In Any Form Does Not Fall Into Normal Guidelines
Do you understand Prose and what it means to write this way? Prose is a composition piece more than a versed poem. It is not restricted to the normal aspects of what you think a poem is.
I came back here to add this introduction to my writing today, because to my surprise, the Hubpages analyst is not considering this piece of writing as a featured piece. They want me to proofread it again. I have to ask why? This is a composition, but it is a composition of a poetry type not of an article that can establish a common rapport to other articles. It is not sequenced in that way on purpose.
I understand that it throws a reader off who is not familiar with poetry in this type of style. Some prose is more identifiable I suppose, but the creative process of writing this type of poetry is different for every writer. I think outside of the box. I ask myself where I want to take the thoughts I have; do I want to verse? Do I want to explain? Do I want to mix the pot of creativity up? I decided I would stir the pot a bit with this one.
To explain a little more, I decided to play psychiatrist to myself. I think this is where some may not get this particular prose piece. It's meant to make you wonder. Who is she? Is she her? However, of course, I want the reader to, somewhere within reading my words, realize the fact that indeed this is me writing about me, and analyzing myself.
Another aspect Hubpages brings up in the tutorial for correctly writing is; can a reader get something out of it, or can they be entertained? My answer to that is that I believe a reader can identify with this. I think as humans we all take time to step outside ourselves and analyze our moods, our thoughts, and our way to handle life.
I've looked over prose pieces. Some prose is of metaphoric paragraphs, but some and most I have read are of narrative reflection from the writer's point of view. Some poets/writers who delved into prose were the late Charles Bukowski and the legendary Oscar Wilde. I suggest reading some of their works. They are brilliant!
Recently, I read how Oscar Wilde had to defend his work quite often, as I'm sure, many other famous writers did as well through the years. So, I will not get dismayed by this setback. It's not really a setback. It's just a misunderstanding of my artistic viewpoint.
Again, I am back here to defend my style of prose poetry with what I feel is unreasonable excuses of not giving me a feature status on this one. This has turned into an explanation for my different way of crafting out a prose piece more than it is displaying my unique talent of writing.
I hope this introduction to my writing style helps. I have changed the topic to creative writing instead of prose poetry with thoughts that it may be more acceptable now with this introduction I have written.
Finally, I would like to thank all the readers who do take the time to read my thoughts. In the grand scheme of this, that is all that really matters to me.
Written or spoken language in its ordinary form, without metrical structure.
plain, or dull writing, discourse, or expression.
prose, 3rd person present, proses, gerund or present present participle,
The What Ifs of the Subject
Sometimes she thinks she has wasted her life. She should have been a psychiatrist, or to suit her personality better a tarot card reader. However, her choices have brought her to struggle not only in her life’s career choices, but in every area in which we all attempt to grasp as normal in society and daily living.
You see; she has made it to never will marry status when it comes to relationships, and I suppose that’s the way she will stay. She realized her awkward childhood has blossomed into a unique and different adulthood that just isn’t looked at as successful gravitation at all by her peers. She made her beds, and lays in them if that is truly what has happened to her. Nevertheless, my psyche seems to entice my mind to float off to some other possibilities of what ifs. What if – the person she is now was born of no coincidence at all, and the karma that she suffered through was to get her to realize this? What if – her fate is to be exactly the outcast in which she has always felt she was, or the lost soul that could never find a destiny here? What if – normal achievements were not meant to be for her in these eras that she has lived, or love meant to be conquered and felt in her lifetime, and that should be acceptable to her now, shouldn’t it? What if – indeed she is a chosen one of some sort by our higher power to enter back into a life that she may have encountered many decades ago? And if that is so, is she failing in his attempts to redeem her, or is she, in fact, not tainted, but perhaps blessed in a way, I cannot tell? Can she possibly be used as some kind of unknown purpose?
Could there be a correlation between psychoticism and creativity??— The Thoughts of Psychologist Hans Eysenck
As you can surely read thus far, I am a deep-thinker. Some may say a real loon. However, I consider myself normal, which is strange too, because I’m not really standard in version at all, and I do know this. It’s kind of comical to think, because it does seem confusing even to me. So, who is she? Well, she is all and then she is nothing. Pretty much like everyone else, but everyone else would not see her this way. It’s true she has lived in a desolated arms reach from humanity; never feeling a part of what others deemed real life to be. She has made no embedded connections' here-excluding her precious children of course. Analyze. I must ponder in order to grow and keep her going. It’s what I’ve learned to do through prose and poetry, mostly.
Flaws of Inhibition Made Into Personal Character
One thing I wonder is; had her inhibitions through life hindered her? Could she have fought more to come out of them? Moreover, what happened to her as a small child, and what made her so lost and alone early at the start of life; scared to speak; trapped in solitude for some kind of unknown fear? I contemplate, but have no answers for this. Uncertainty locked her into an insecurity that she actually learned to hide as a teenager in her bad-ass party demeanor that she obtained through a crowd of other misfits, not at all like her, but like her. Yes, hiding. She was used to that, by the time she hit her twenties and in every relationship of hers through the years, she tried her best to keep hidden, just to eventually be found out and shamed by her lovers’ infidelities and then her feeling of unworthiness.
Eventually, I started bringing a character to her; much like Mary Shelley’s characters of Frankenstein and his monster, one lonely in determination to be someone and then to find absolution for his deed of choice to do so. Edgar Allan Poe in his debilitating solitude and memories of lost loves. Sylvia Plath is a lot like her with her tormented up and down life that ended up burdening her thoughts and bringing her to a fatal final illusion. And Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde’s fantasy character of himself that in his captivation of purity and uninhibited lifestyle, was unable to achieve unless a soul was sold. Yes, I identified her with these unique characters of history-fictional and non-fictional. The land of tormented misfits who work hard to console themselves in some way in the hopes of surviving life. She should be marked as having this type of unique character traits as well.
Do You Think My Prose Poetry is difficult to Grasp?
Realities and Fate We All Will Share
In her own sense of reality, I believe she has finally reached humbleness. I don’t know exactly when, I can’t pinpoint a moment from her life that it happened, but it happened. She gave in. She decided to accept herself as she was and was now, and though it continues to be a hard road at times, and she still feels like she is on this journey, which is never-ending. A journey that I’m not sure will finally bring her to a spot in life that she understands fully. Where she continues to wonder if one part of her being may be fulfilled as normalcy.
Fate, well it awaits her no matter if it comes with no exhilaration over accomplishments of her own. It will find her one day maybe in a hospital room when she’s 80 years old. It may come while sleeping peacefully under a Tuscan sky. Will I still have the questions I have tucked in me now? I fear she will be alone, and then again; I don’t fear that at all. I embrace her solace that she has grown accustomed.
I guess at the end of this session of self-help therapy, my point is that she is making it. She is who she is, and she accepts herself. She wasn’t meant to be straight forward and readable. She was born to be a complicated mystery. I think I like that about her. Do I really have a choice?
© 2016 Missy Smith