Musings of A Wannabe Writer

The last few days I’ve been reading the Anne of Green Gables series. It is my most recent old/new obsession. And stupid ol’ Anne, she dreams of romance and poetical living. She’s my literary kindred spirit. She inspires me to write sappy poems about love and kittens and sunshine. But if you know me, you know I am a dog person. And that love and sunshine are just not my topics. Forget butterflies and flowers, give me doom and gloom. I can write a depressing and dark story or blog until I’m blue in the face…or fingers. You know, since we don’t write with our faces.

So trying to break out and write a poem, A HAPPY POEM *insert gagging emoji* is quite the challenge.

I just desperately want to write at least one piece that blows everybody’s minds. I mean that in the most disgusting, self centered, and attention seeking way. I want to write at least one piece that gains me an insane amount of notoriety. I want people to read my work and think “Dude, where did this Alex girl come from? Her work, I just can’t even. It’s totes amaze.”. Of course, this will give me the big head, and then I will humble brag to my siblings about how famous I am and remind them that they are butt faces until the end of time.

Is it too much to ask of my brain to formulate words in to sentences that are wondiferous? Is wondiferous even a word? Maybe I should just start making up words. Damn it. According to Urban Dictionary, wondiferous is already a word. I guess I better try harder if I want any recognition for my mediocre at best writing.

Back to this poem business. How do I even begin? Do you actually have to feel emotions like a real human to tackle such writing? That could be the problem. Little known fact, I’m actually a robot cat in a dog loving, human body.

This just got weird. Sorry about that.

I just don’t know how to write without sounding lame…and emo. Everything comes out pathetic and whiny. When I read what I’ve written, I feel like I need to sing it in a nasally voice, while I apply too much black eyeliner and rat up my overly razored scene hair. I just can’t get it right. But this honestly reflects my inner romantic child poet. Could it be that the world needs my angsty dribble about heartache, glitter, and raccoon eyes? Maybe I am at Anne of Green Gables poetical status after all!