Soaked

I feel my creativity flow like a sponge caught in the ebb and flow of the ocean tide. 

One day I am awash with ideas and visions bubbling inside me like ocean foam lapping on the beach. When I’ve reached my capacity, I overflow and can no longer contain the torrent of my imagination and I focus my efforts to create something new and beautiful.  I am swept away by the tug of the words, and every creative drop is purged from me. 

I am left stranded and empty on the dry sand of the beach, scorched to a husk by the beating sun, wordless and visionless. Unable to think or create, I am empty and in need of the flood of inspiration that moves me to write and the desperation to have my voice heard. I suck in every bit of stimulation, absorbing every spark of ingenuity I can find to fuel the creativity that will come once again with the tide. 

And suddenly it’s there again, the wave of brilliance and exuberance that compels me to disgorge my thoughts, my voice, and my art into the world. 

I want to be heard. The tide demands it. 

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