Currently, I’m writing a lot of nonsense hullabaloo.

Inspired nonsense (although it need not be. it is)

And assignments. For my writing class.

And not much else for me.

But getting turned on by poetry

of my own. My own. Yes, my own.

I know, right? like, wtf?!

But not adding to the life of the characters in the novel I started six months ago. And feeling lousy about that.

Lousy about that. But not excited about embracing an artform deep within me that I’ve suppressed for fear of my own power. Because let’s face it, that is all that the root of any fear is–the ultimate fear of our own power and the responsibility that comes with that.

Yup. I’m scared of that.

Very scared. So scared.

But, I am mid-twenties and still relying on my parents for rent. So pride is long gone and with that layer stripped away because of my own lack of success at a point in my life that I planned and expected for more, I realize how close I am to the root of most of my fears. Because I’m past the fear of what others think by fully submitting to the reality that some may view my life as a failure.

And actually embracing that. That leaves less responsibility to others and more to me–YAY ME!

With that open, I’m feeling layers of repressed creativity screaming and gasping and clawing and striving for the fresh air at the surface of me.

And they are all fast runners and swimmers and much stronger than I ever gave them credit for.

These creative voices within me are kind of sometimes (like right NOW) taking me over.

Like when I’m high or tripping. I am on the drug of my own Muses.

But, as with other drugs, when I come down I realize that I didn’t get any “real world” work done.

And I feel lousy.

But, I’m high right now. I dropped the acid of my own inner beauty.

And I think I’ll stay here for awhile.

Until I come down and think of how much time I “wasted” being so-called “creative.”

Can’t you tell? I’m coming down right now. And the voices inside are now starting the argument I know all too well and have come to the place where I can be an observer of my thought-debates with unattachment.

Until they are over. And I am forced to choose a winner.





About heathencomehome

question marks & ellipses
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