Thoughts Considering the Process of Poetry 

Words race through my head. They spin as if on a ferris wheel; faster and faster they go. Almost flashing before my eyes before I blink. Words become a phrase, usually a line or two. They play on repeat until I expel them onto paper. It is as if I vomit my thoughts out onto the screen. Sometimes a memory triggers it, or something I saw, or for no apparent reason at all. My best poetry seems to emerge from my melancholy, which often prescribes extreme emotionally charged poetry. The act of writing, is an act of release. I write slowly, running the phrases through my head over and over again until they sound like they should. I silently mouth the words, and later read them aloud in silence. If the poem isn’t too personal, I will share it for review, but as most of poetry is personal, I hide it away. A few days after completing a poem, I return to it and read it again, and continue to mold and morph it is deemed necessary. I can, and do, write on cue, wether prompted by an image, question, or phrase. I will study the prompt and ruminate the possible outcomes; some viable, others less viable. I prefer to be alone when I write, and if that is not possible, to at least feel a certain solitude amongst others— so then they may not read my thoughts.  I tend to write best when it is late at night— for that is when my thoughts truly run rampant. Depending on the night, I will either write multiple poems feverishly, or labor over the construction of one. 

— Rachel