Like writing will save you
Like writing makes anything better
All it does is forces your fears
out into the open
where everyone can see them
Does everyone have this compulsion to matter
to make something that lasts
to be important
amazing
unforgettable
It’s exhausting
Constantly reaching for something to validate you
never satisfied with what you have already created
I have written enough words to fill a hundred books and inspire a thousand judgments. Yet none of them helped me. They lay silent on the page and when I visit them they moan pathetically and force into the light all the parts of me I’d rather not look at.
They are my weaknesses, my doubts, my embarrassments laid out to dry
Too fragile to throw away
Too shameful to share
What do you do with a million terrible reminders
of your mediocre talent?
Do you keep trying?
Or give up?