I’m curious…and hopefully that doesn’t come off as condescending… (because I relate)
If you have a passion and a pleasurable hobby, what prevents you from pursuing it?
If you know that blogging is therapeutic for you, why don’t you do it more?
I guess, this relates to ALL artists types…musicians, dancers, painters, photographers, etc…
Why do we avoid the very thing we love?
I’m open to answers, this isn’t a rhetorical question! I’m struggling with this right now. I daydream about all the things I want to write about…but then aimless computer games and social media feeds waste my free time until my eyes and neck are too sore to finally create and contribute something meaningful to this website.
Sometimes I think I don’t write because I think that to be a writer means that I have to be better than what I’m doing to honorably fall into that category. I think that if I don’t have the burning fire inside me to start a new blog post multiple times a day, then I’m not a true writer and I should just step aside for the real ones to get more attention.
Why do you avoid _____?
And more importantly: how do you still stick with it even when limiting beliefs are trying to take over?
Frozen…but not the kind from being too cold. It’s the type that comes from a new intimacy with Truth.
Truth came to my full attention this evening.
Truth came to replace its previous stand-in: distant, shallow stories.
Truth revealed itself through expressed bravery and exposure.
It’s easy to be nonchalantly composed when theory runs my life.
“Those problems are ‘over there…’ Is this even really happening? Is it that big of a deal?”
But then I find out and realize that YES. It is. These problems are simmering in people’s lives who I see weekly, more than my own family and dogs. And now, it’s boiled over for me to see…for me to feel.
When people share their vulnerability it allows us to step up and meet them—to fill that once-distant space between us.
There becomes a new layer of intimacy to explore: humanity.
For now, I’m still processing, digesting, and frozen.
…but what’s gonna happen when I melt?
But do you really care?
When I answer truthfully I scare you off.
Is it my honestly?
My pathetic excitement and curiosity in my own life?
You shut me down and criticize me for answering the way I did.
(Whatever that was)
So I am conditioned to not open up.
I close myself off to you.
This pattern cycles around in circles like the seasons.
I begin to think
“What if you are right?”
and I really have palty aspirations
that don’t offer anything to anyone,
that I’m not valuable,
that me being on Earth and me not existing wouldn’t make a difference to you, or anyone.
If anything, it would be less of a hassle if there was less of me..
So why do you ask how I’m doing?
Sorry for the depressing ass shit lately. It’s a phase I’m going through, hopefully. Luckily, I’m remembering how therapeutic writing poetry is for me…you reading this probably understand
Phone off, forgotten somewhere.
Loose, flowing, brushed hair.
Zero fucks given & I don’t care.
Off to the inner world I dare.
No meeting, no projects,
only reading for fun.
Clean here, clean there,
hair now goes up in a high bun.
No obligations, no people,
I’m left with myself.
Usually this is a blast,
but sometimes I wonder about killing oneself.
I’d rather use my off days for this:
processing emotional, confusing bullshit,
then waste what little reserves I have,
and let my “social life” take a hit.
Lazy days are the best days of all;
I get to watch aspects of me crumble and fall.
This may seem depressing and small,
but out comes little gems, like this here scrawl.
What are your lazy days like?
Cycling through all the memories I hold,
attempting to craft up a new ending,
I realize I have chapters left untold
to the stinging king–character: a fling.
Ooo, baby! Did you just hear that one ring?
Come on down off your bed-swaying high horse.
Hear my words, feel their essence, let it sting.
Of course, you digress to endorse your “source.”
And no remorse, for my truth you ignore,
or for my emotions you influence.
What does that make me? Lax foyer decor?
Unify like a stagnant confluence.
Once so innocent, you left me in ruins…
a thriving civilization no more.
Merciless and widespread executions,
right before you gently walk out the door
When do I accept something literally
instead of taking it figuratively?
And when will the delusion of you
fade back to the Blue?
Duality splits unity,
her with he, as he with her.
And after a period of scrutiny
I found that they always were.
Across the ether,
I discovered the teacher
through my birth.
Lessons taught come from synchronization.
Lessons learned arise from shatters.
The seed germinates through visualization,
to soon ascend with the masters.
I am a hot mess,
…the kind that’s still evolving.
The type of chaos in the cosmos
reality is involving.
and numbed to the core,
this salmagundi clarifies
then I seek ‘n explore.
while doubts disappear.
Who knew I’d be the one…
the truth that is the seer.
Totally tempting to touch.
Now, riddle me this:
Is it the quantity of friends that count?
Or the quality of friends that matter?
Lose two, gain one.
Look deeper than the superficial stratum.
What is being lost?
What is being gained?
Ahhh, there you go…
Now do you see?
It’s a lot easier to flow,
When you just let things be.
Last night you fantasized of Indigo Dreams.
In the randomness of the projected schemes
It might seem, a little extreme, a repetitive theme.
Look past that ignorant beam,
Keep acknowledging the gleam;
Your growing esteem,
Into unity supreme.
To be the lover of he who should not be talked of
for others may break the flower pot
and let all beauty fall upon the cold concrete and carry the need to be thrown away.
How it bubbles inside the wanted lover to boil up and over for others to see, for him to see,
but sometimes one must keep a resolution from themselves until concluded
so the happiness is higher than how it would have been if it was planned.
Sinking into her worse enemy
She let the impulse control her once free mind.
Her visible exit is a mistake,
but it’s the only one she can find.
Regrets arrive before the attempt is complete;
She plays it off like it was no defeat.
She thinks that running away
will save the day
but really, she just was beat.