Poetry has recently become a bit of a game I play with myself.
Some of you might know I keep this wall of sticky notes at my writing desk. The space is plastered with lines that I came up with at some point but didn’t really have a poem for, so they just hang there waiting for me to take them down and use them somewhere.
And sometimes I put so many up that I start running out of space, meaning I have no choice but to start using some of them. They’ll start flooding over onto the photos on my wall if I don’t.
But once I use a few, suddenly there are these gaping holes in the lines of sticky notes, making my wall look slightly messier than it actually is. So I get the urge to patch things up with new notes, and more stray lines.
And I keep going back and forth, trying to make space and trying not to run out of lines to pull at the same time, all while not going overboard.