Today’s writing prompt, Writing: A Poem, will ignite your creative impulses about writing and allow you to reflect on why you write. Keep reading to see the full prompt and my completed version of it.

Today’s Writing Prompt: Writing, a poem

Write a poem about writing. Before you begin writing reflect on what you’re sensing and how you feel before you write, so you can channel it into your poem. Do you smell, hear, or see anything each time before you write? Do you feel anxious, energized, motivated, or like you’re outside of yourself looking in on yourself before you write?

This writing prompt is intended to spur your creativity. You don’t need to be an expert poet in order to feel inclined to complete it. Just experiment with words a little bit and see what happens.

Completed Version of Today’s Writing Prompt

Writing, by K.E. Creighton

I always come prepared. The blinking cursor won’t taunt me. Or come alive on the screen. Not when I have so much to say. Too much to say. To do. To be. And this is the only thing that costs nothing. At least. Until the words I type. Once inspired. Go out into the world. Then the price is not mine. As they wreak their havoc. Soothe invisible souls. Or etch even more. Words and wounds. Creating their own space. Their own face. Never intended. One can never tell. When they tell themselves.

But still. I stay comforted and encouraged as I write. As I type. As I let go. From this feeling that words are something I could or will ever own or master. What a fleeting enterprise. What a botchery of beauty. A dry practice. A fool’s errand. To think one can colonize or order or sell something so purely human. Like words. Like language. For which I am only a vessel for their living. Something to fill and pass through. That gives me meaning. Not the other way around.

Words are not my own. Yet I feel responsible for them. Once they are on the page. For their existence. For where they go. And to whom. As if they were birthed from my own womb. Which is silly and indecorous and sticky sounding. Yet somehow an accurate portrayal of my paradoxical vocation. No one can move or fashion anything from nothing. That goes against science. Against physics. And being. No one can create or own language. No one owns a sentence. Even if they create their own. With words. Do they? Which is what makes it all so beautiful and dark and tragic and magical. So frustratingly elusive. It’s commonality. Communicability and communality. One can torture words or taint them or decorate them or keep them raw. But they have no one true master. Instead, they master us all.

[All Rights Reserved by K.E. Creighton and Creighton’s Compositions LLC. The above work is a piece of fiction. All names and locations referred to are the product of the author’s imagination and are used entirely for fictional purposes. Any similarities to real-life persons or places are purely coincidental.]

Notes on Completing this Writing Prompt

The more you let go when writing, the more the words will write themselves. That’s what I experienced when writing the above.

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