Take Two
All I can hear is the silence
the sort of constant ringing in my ear
the constant voice inside
reminding me of things to do
of emotions I’d rather forget
I bite my pen
anxious
forever anxious, even about a poem
that isn’t really a poem,
that no one will ever read.
I can hear my pen on the paper
mark by mark
the creation of something I can see
A rarity in my life
A concrete moment in time
out of context of the details
crowding out the sensation
that nothing is happening
three years writing the same poem
sleeping alone
listening
afraid
As an organizer I know
I learn
I see
That fear always holds us back
We find convenient excuses
It is hard to say,
“I am weak.”
But I am still afraid
I was always afraid of failure
And all I’ve learned is how much
failure can hurt
Breathing deeply doesn’t make it go away
An over-full calendar doesn’t make it go away
Three glasses of whiskey doesn’t make it go away
A fear of failure
preventing success
sometimes
I am still going to sleep alone
I can barely imagine another life
my mind won’t let me
Even when someone else is in my bed
it still wanders, it still hides in the details
In the calendar
In the meetings, in the next test
Back to chewing my pen
Pausing literally, drifting to work
because I am afraid to fix myself
because I am afraid to be broken
It is a furious thing
to run from life
to live so fully but be so…
empty
my writing is fast and sloppy now
I shake my head
wonder when the tears will come
when the truth will come
when I will feel love
when I will appreciate love
when I will believe in the moment
and not just in the next
I have never lived right now
or I haven’t in a long time
I am always stuck living
in the future or in the past
or in some unhealthy combination
equating the two.
The pages are filling up
the whiskey still sinking in
I love the movement because it is something bigger to be a part of. It gives me meaning, it gives me drive, it gives me a family.
My family is so far away. I am disconnected from love in so many ways.
Disconnected from creation, from energy. I don’t even cook anymore. My happiness is more intellectual than it is emotional and only part of me knows that there is something truly fucked up about that. Or is there? It is all in our head anyway.
Deep breath.
Keep fighting, but start living.
Take Two (via Purple Mountain of Despair) « Williamjordandirect's Blog said,
January 24, 2011 at 8:17 pm
[...] All I can hear is the silence the sort of constant ringing in my ear the constant voice inside reminding me of things to do of emotions I'd rather forget I bite my pen anxious forever anxious, even about a poem that isn't really a poem, that no one will ever read. I can hear my pen on the paper mark by mark the creation of something I can see A rarity in my life A concrete moment in time out of context of the details crowding out the sensation th … Read More [...]