Monday, December 8, 2008

Right.

I wanted to be a writer
until I read all these books
and began to look down
on all the words
I'd written
ashamed
of my own ineptitude
and sticky
with low self esteem.

I thought
I had a story to tell
and I wrote
75,839 words
of it
before reading it back
and despising
every choice I made
and the dishonesty
in the painting
of it.

The fiction of it.
I hated that.

I wanted to be a writer
but lost my love of it
in my desire for it
like so many things
I had lost before
too hungry
to taste
too eager to swallow
choking
on my own
impatience
and
too depressed
to fight for it.

I wanted to be a story teller
but I didn't know
who I was
to tell you a story.

A sheep to trends
a dag with a tale
that dropped off
just
shit
with
no angle.

I wanted to sing you a song
but
I know
all these musicians
and my notes
seem predictable
and G to C
seems twee
and the anger
and sorrow
in my heart
seems

unoriginal.

I wanted to believe
in myself
but I always proved
myself wrong.

Now
I just want to feel
that being me
is
okay
to
me.

That when I tell myself
I want to be a writer
I want to sing a song
I can crash
through
the walls of cynicism
that I have built up
around myself
and let go
let
go

let
go.

I wanted to be a writer
so I thought I'd write
about
that.

No comments:

Post a Comment