Of writing and stuff like that(C)

I write poems. And I am not too poetic, nor too lyrical. Anything more complex than a ABAB style of rhyming has me sweating, spontaneity dried up, syllable count taking precedence over expression of emotion. Because poetry for me always meant concentrated emotion just hurled out. Who cared about form. Substance and raw emotion was what mattered. Release. I felt, I wrote. I rarely went back to correct it. One written, I never went back over it, maybe ran a spell check- even that was not mandatory. It was cathartic, a self cleansing process.

So I always looked at prose as something rather difficult to attempt. Not because I lacked a continual flow of idea, rather the pain of the process. Slow, tedious plodding along as opposed to the free fall poetry gave. Yes, I could write prose too. In fact I was doing pretty well building up short surprising stories, but I needed them to finish fast. Anything longer than a week or so- while in the process of creation used to disturb me. It was the emotional draining process- indeed so bad was it that after my longest story, I did not dare attempt fiction in prose for about a year.

And in some strange way it reflected relationship too. Poetry- sudden, easy,. Free, an explosion, then a cessation. Heady exuberance or a dark depression. Intense and short bursts- lucidity with inchoate thoughts. Infatuation.

While prose was slower, many times reworked, re-worded, built up over time. Lines written, crossed out, re-phrased, Re-read, Several emotions felt, a gradual building up over time. Long lasting, mature, more serious. Love.

Was it perhaps lassitude that stopped me fro attempting anything more tedious than poetry? The dreary drudgery of proceeding on something for a long time. The dull mundane-ness of the inevitable routine that would creep into a spontaneous expression?
I do not know I only know this , of late I write more prose. Prose that is not even fiction. Light headed, continuous, and a pleasure to write. Prose that flows out more naturally.
But there is poetry too. It is now bursts of concentrated demons of the past that need release.