Fleshing this out a bit more.
6 years I’ve been a "poet". I've shared my thoughts to crowds at open mic nights around my city. An old high school teacher(it was more like 4 people) played an integral role in getting me involved with writing. He taught me what he knew about poems, drafts, music, and philosophy. He challenged me to create. I’ve become a lot more experienced in writing since then.
It used to be that I wrote poems as songs but I sing nasally and rough(who the fuck wants to listen to an unprofessional singer). My voice ached after five minutes(I wrote too much lmao). I'm on indefinite hiatus—I think I'll start again, just not right away. It's a fun hobby, I get to meet a lot of cool people with character. The connections are nice
I love traveling. Nowhere far or extravagant---just sleepy rural towns, prairie towns, towns that haven’t aged, some that looked straight out of an old western and some that had surreal vibes. I never travel alone, I intermittently tag along with friends/relatives.
"Cordelia, lost in the looking glass
With her, I grew too attached
On their thirty-seventh break up
She confessed to being worn out
Like her, romance is too chaotic
She clings to a dying wreath
Her providence lead her to redemption
Her love brought out selflessness
Even though her eyes are wide enough
To find her way home
She spends her nights aimlessly
Wandering Honorarium Lane."
^ Tongue-in-cheek remark about someone I used to know.