There’s something so damn beautiful about creativity.

I always loved the idea of being poetic. That’s part of the reason I fell so in love with The Libertines when I discovered them – Doherty’s time as poet pre-band-member made me start to place a little bit of confidence in the notebooks full of verses and phrases that I kept hidden from the rest of the world.

I used to write so much. I used to read all the time too. I never seem to find time for either these days. Books take a lot of focus, and a lot of time, neither of which are my strong points. I write a lot of articles, and a fair few blog posts, but not that much that’s truly creative. Not until lately, anyway.

Finding something that fills your head with ideas, that feeling that you start to get as a line of words fall into place in your mind, seeing a finished verse on the page… I adore it. Of course, that’s not to say that any of it is any good. But I enjoy the process. I like knowing that I’ve made something in my day, and that I have it, physically penned, even if it is just going to end up discarded in a drawer somewhere later. And isn’t that most of the point?

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