I go through phases where I spend countless sentances just rhyming. I don't know where my inner poet comes from, or why exactly she appears- but she does every once in a while and refuses to leave. I speak in poetry to my animals, darlings, and friendly trees beyond my bedroom window (whom I whisper secrets to every night- they are the very best secret holders). For some reason I have taken on her again. I feel like every other sentance should rhyme and it takes every ounce of my concentration to ensure that such a thing does not occur- especially when I am writing something so dear to my heart... like this diary. But I seem to have made it through a paragraph now and the urge to collect likewise words is overwhelming. So I'm off to grab a notebook, pencil, and candle and play poetry writer to my hearts content.
