There’s a misconception that my wealth of poetic and written knowledge means finding a metaphor is like breathing.
You caught me; I opened with a simile, and a cliche one at that.
However, being intentional about words is where I find that I break away from my poetic form. Poets are one part musicality and one part word play—the latter being a weakness of mine. I rarely go into a project with the full intent on making grandiose comparisons and cunning analogies. That comes later in the revision stage, once I strip away all logic.
Logical Writer’s Block
Most of the writing we cling to is visceral; we want to feel the emotion in the words. Readers and listeners want to be seeped into the moment lush with imagery and a world to either escape to or from their own.
Yet, my inner critic is a*shole to say the least. She won’t allow me to get to the emotion. Mostly because her entire life’s trauma is predicated on her family and friends criticizing her for being too in touch with her feelings. If you met me at a party in my 20s, for example, I wouldn’t be drinking and telling surface-level jokes. Instead, I would watch you drink and wax poetic about philosophy and the myriad of ways a bunch of dead white guys discussed feminine beauty, and how their perception of women has messed me up for the rest of my life.
For many, this was far too much and for years I was called out as serious, deep thinking, emotional, sensitive, and a lot of other words meant to toughen me up and out of my feelings.
As a person, I don’t know if I’m all the better for it. As a writer, I certainly suffer a whole lot.
Finding My Emotional Side
To reconnect with emotions means to find ways to trick my brain into play. Play, for me, is a safe state of being.
In 2023, I began to write a song about closing the physical gap between myself and a boy named Austin. At 36, I was falling hard for a man in the middle of the United States. He would share his favorite coffee places, and I would show him mine. At some point, I longed for him to be close to me and so I started a note in my phone. Those lyrics were literal.
I want to send him coffee But he lives in another city I’ve thought about ride-sharing His favorite drink without me But all I can send him Is digital, digital roses Glitching promises Digital, digital roses
If I had to salvage a line from this free write, it would be digital roses. But what about them? I didn’t know how to describe them any further, or the feeling. So, I had to find a game that would help me move beyond the literal.
The Paint Chip Poetry: A Game of Color and Wordplay looked intriguing. Yet, I didn’t want to buy it, knowing: 1) My parents threw away my actual pain chip collection (I had an obsession, and my dad is also a painter by trade) and 2) the internet exists for a reason.
Randomly, I recalled the Tumblr years and posts about Pantone colors, and so I thought—why not? In my notebook, I scrawled some thoughts about what color roses I would give a man I was in love with if we were far apart. They would be the color of my skin, a hue close to my complexion mixed with a blush. And so, I began my search: pinkish brown.
Those search words led me to a few colors, until I stumbled on the the Pantone color, “evening sand.” That phrase, evening sand, felt like a better descriptor than: I will send you roses, pink and brown.
I’m not even sure brown roses exist…
Anyway, with the color in place, the feeling of the song began to emerge. Word banking was helpful, too. I was able to fully connect with my senses––touch, specifically. Touching the color of evening sand reminded me of the wedding mints my parents would bring back for me in the 90s, of which I also stole from the tables of a wedding where I was a flower girl. I only ever wanted to eat anything pink. It felt like love. If a rose should exist for me to send him, it would be these.
A new chorus sprouted:
I want to send you evening sand roses A reminder in place in a pink crystal vase Beside your bed, so that when Your texts make me laugh You'll known the color you turn The color of my skin But all I have are digital roses that pixelate when the lights go out
For a chorus, that’s a mouthful to sing. I highlighted phrases I thought appealed to that longing of touch, and narrowed it down to:
I'll send you roses of evening sand A reminder to place by your bed You can touch the color of my skin Wedding mints...
That evolved again:
I'll send you roses of evening sand A reminder to place by your bed You can touch the color of my skin Buttermints wrapped in lace A body that won't glitch A being no florist could pick I can't give you that with Digital roses
Eventually, once I sat down at the piano, the final chorus became:
I'll send you roses Of evening sand You can touch the color Of my skin Petals as soft as Wedding mints They won't glitch When you taste them I can't give you that With digital roses
It took a lot to get this one chorus down. A few late nights working on just a few words. But knowing I wanted to let myself feel again and let others feel with me in that moment, I knew I had to push passed the critic, the trauma, and fully embrace my feelings. I had to relive that moment in 2023, wishing I was close to Austin.
If you want to know, he never let me send him roses. Not all romance songs need to have a happy ending, I guess.
🌹🌹
Ashley Jean
Ways to Support Me
Digital Roses now streaming on Spotify, Apple Music.
You can also purchase my upcoming EP, Off the Hinge on Bandcamp and get Digital Roses when you purchase.
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