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So Nadine Writes

// the unapologetic poetic type

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All articles filed in poem

Equinox

By: Nadine Nabass March 19, 2020December 6, 2019
Poetry, Uncategorizedchange, equinox, fresh, growth, life, march, new, poem, Poetry, spring, writer, writingLeave a Comment on Equinox

I enter this season damp saline crystals form on my cheekbones I am ready to glow

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Poetry, Uncategorizedchange, equinox, fresh, growth, life, march, new, poem, Poetry, spring, writer, writingLeave a Comment on Equinox

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Please take me back to Santa Monica 😭😭😭😭😭
Three years ago yesterday we went on a study date to plan our extra-credit-stand up comedy-skit for our stats class. THREE YEARS. You used to call us the hijabi & the heretic and we should bring that back tbh
You know, I've fallen into a rut of mundanity. With so much going on all the time, it feels like there is always something left on my to do list. I have gotten stuck in the routine of waking up, working, eating, sleeping, cleaning, and doing it all again and again. When I want to do something different, I can't bring myself to write or read or paint under the guise of a creative block. Getting back into it didn't feel right. Maybe I was never a creative to begin with? It felt like I could never be where I once was, making poems from newspaper clippings for fun, writing endlessly. It didn't seem fun anymore, it was intimidating. But then, is imposter syndrome not the closest friend of the creative? - Breaking up the mundanity has been hard. i read a book from my childhood front to back this week and that was really eye opening for me. I haven't read anything since the summer. I haven't read this particular book since I was 11. The nonsensical science fiction had me laughing, it made me open up my own creative writing folder for the first time since December. To read through. To take notes. Maybe to begin a memoir. Getting back into the groove of creativity always felt like it must be such a serious task. I have always felt that doing something "creative" had to be something done intentionally and dramatically. I never would have thought that re-reading "A Wrinkle in Time" in a pillow fort on the couch would've done it, but it did, and I am excited again to write.
It's cold and my lips are chapped
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