Welcome to the Sandbox of My Soul. Why do I call it that, you ask? Well,
consider this: A sandbox is where children at play take sand and
use it to construct things more tangible (although usually not much more
tangible, as the case usually is). Similarly, One who writes poetry plays
with words, transforming the vast jumble into something more tangible (to
the writer, at least), without having to worry about the constraint
imposed by convention (although many writers constrain themselves for
Alternatively, one can consider another analogy: The sandbox is often a place where certain small furry animals (cats, for instance) like to deposit their.. byproducts. Is not poetry the byproduct of thought? Then again, perhaps I am simply pulling this analogy out of my ass (pun almost intended). Regardless, I do find it amusingly ironic how well this analogy works, especially if my work is shite. However, I leave that judgement to the reader.
I tend to judge my own work very harshly, but a few works actually do manage to withstand the process of constant dissection and nitpicking. Here are the pieces that have made into onto the menu for public consumption:
This bores me. Take me elsewhere!