My mind absolutely locked on this one, which is why I’m finally typing this out at 9:00 at night. I tried after I did my cursive practice – no luck. I did almost every chore imaginable because my mind did not want to do this. But I did it. I remind myself that not everything I write has to be PERFECT or a WORK OF ART. The progress is in the practice, not always the outcome.
and I hate that.
April allergies have left me hollow.
The page before me repeats a refrain:
“Let your mind go and the rest will follow.”
I struggle and fight against my own brain,
cribbing from music and novels and screen;
fear passes and only I will remain.
The words wont come and I want to scream.
I’m stumbling, I’m tripping, it’s all so rough
along this shadowed path of shattered dreams.
I never thought it would be this tough
my doubt speaks louder than what I can write:
“You’ve got talent, kid, but it ain’t enough.”