writing and composing
and creating in my mind,
but the connection to getting things
out into the world
is a broken synapse/
a mis-connected wire/
something that somehow doesn’t work
the way i think it should
[the way it does work for so many]
and i feel
closer to fixing it/
finding the connection/
actually getting my feelings
out
than i have ever felt in my life
[crazy what one honest therapy session can do]
it’s the dichotomy
between
my very private personality
and my desire/impulse to overshare at every opportunity
it’s the balance to find
between
loving the little luxuries in life
and not feeling fully fulfilled
unless i’m working insanely hard
it’s the desire to be the raw, young talent
switching between
wanting to be respected, knowledgable, wise
it’s the old soul behind a young face,
it’s the bubbling energy inside an aging body
it’s the creativity battling the perfectionism
it’s the wanting to do good, placed against knowledge of how bad it really is
it’s loving humanity
and being so scared of people
all at the same time
it’s the dichotomy
and it’s forever battling inside me
(i have always identified with Aang,
but maybe i’m more like Zuko,
trying to prove myself,
working against insurmountable odds,
until another option shines through
and i realize i didn’t need to work that hard to begin with)
(that analogy didn’t lead where i initially thought it would…)
to wake up
the next day
and the next day
and the next day
forever feels like
[exhaustion]
but some people see it as
opportunity
and i’d love to be one of those people
[maybe one day?]
~~~
cold air
makes me feel
so forlorn
even in the springtime
when it should be a reminder of
where we just were
(though it’s barely the temperature we’re coming from)
it feels like
everything is dying again
and i’ll be placed in my
hibernation
for my own good
because otherwise
that hibernation
would beg to be
permanent.
~~~
to create
or not to create
[for the zine]
that
really isn’t a question at all.
when one has an endeavor
that one is excited about
that one wants to be
at least close to great
one will do it
and do it
proudly.
reading through old poems
and realizing
they’re not as bad as you thought
