Writing

And I am feeling lost. Staring at my computer. The words have left, taken their ball and gone home. And here I sit and stare. This is nothing new. All writers know this. And I feel the push, the drive to create something brilliant and insecurity that simmers under the surface saying, “it will be crap.” And so I sit and stare. Lost in my circle. Create. I can’t. I have to. It’ll suck. Time slowly ticking. And I sit and stare. All the characters that I danced with yesterday, even during breakfast, have moved on with their day, gone to their jobs, met their lovers at seedy hotels, boarded airplanes for paradise. And I sit and stare. Tick tock goes the clock. Eyes fade and the screen is a blur of white like staring into the sun. Trying to fight time, like a boxer trying to get the last punch in before the bell. Trying to find inspiration, like an artist sees the world. I look over my outlines. Over my ideas. My list of projects. And nothing comes. Time has stopped like watching the clock on the last of day of school before summer vacation. Eternity has set in. My mind wanders like a leaf in the wind. My creative gone and forgotten like a prisoner on death row.  So, I sit and stare. Force myself to wait. To be patient. Like a child waiting for mailman. Like a dog waiting for dinner. Like people waiting for the bus. I know it will come. I just have to wait. Patiently.

Little lost goth girl

Little lost goth girl

Drowning in her hair

Swallowed by the black

Held by the harsh guitar sounds and banging drums

Seen in her drawings

Come to me, inspire me, allow me to see, to be and recreate

Witness protection

As the nerves slowly take over and I can no longer function

I concentrate to keep my body from revolting

It takes everything not to scream and run for the door

My mind begins to wander with a million what if disaster scenarios

And I am brought back to myself

my fears washed away when my eyes meet those familiar eyes

I am blessed with the all reassuring smile

that confirms everything will be okay

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I can’t stand me

I can’t me…..

when my ego runs wild, doing it’s best to convince me of all the ways I am broken, lost, damage, no good, not worthy.  Feeding my fears, insecurity by insecurity.  Unrelentless judgment (of everyone and everything) Ridicule.  Shame and guilt.  She’s can be cruel and heartless.  The constant reminders of all the reasons why I must do and be and on and on she goes…

That’s when I can’t stand me.

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Reason to believe

Love

She exists.  Even if she is a faint memory.  She is always there.  Watching.  Waiting.  Wishing.  She is the angel you forget about.  The angel you cling to.  Because at the end of everyday, there are those who love unconditionally.  Those who make the world a better place.  And then there are those who eagerly await your return.  All because of love.  She is there.  She is always there.  Sometimes, you just have to look.

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Fear ridden toilet

He sits on the toilet.  The sun barely peeking over the horizon.  Shorts around his ankles, his face buried in his hands.  Brushing his hands through his hair, sitting up,  shoulders back.  “I can do this!” He could hear the doubt, moreover feel it in his body.  The ton of self doubt glistening rocks sinking and weighing down not only his stomach but his spirit too. The lump of fear clogging his throat, that locked away his confidence.  “I can do this! Fake it til you make it, right?” Pulling up his shorts, standing tall, flushing the toilet along with his dreams. His shoulders deflat. He now stands clutching the bathroom counter and facing himself in the mirror. He stared into the stranger’s eyes.  Questioning the wrinkle ridden face. Who was this man?  Where had the man he known gone?  Shifting his gaze down, softly leaving his lips, “no I can’t. “

Home of my Shadow

I have wrestled with this blog.  Her purpose.  For you see it has changed.  It started as a venue for me to stretch and grow as a writer, which she still is.  However, I realize this blog is the home of my shadow.

Here dwells my darkness.  My fears.  Insecurities.  The things I hid under the floor board or tuck away in the closet.

Here my demons are allowed to run free.  To create chaos.  To be seen and heard.

Here lives my shadow, free to express it’s self.  To be part of me.

Here I am whole.

Hurried

In the hurried frazzledness of life

The constant state of motion

Never stopping

Always going

I miss the sunrise

The sunset

The sun and wind against my skin

I am caught in the trap of living

Forgetting that I am in fact alive

Always moving

Always running

Afraid to stop

Afraid to feel

There is safety in movement

It’s time to be still

And to be again

Drawing in the new year

I decided to start drawing again. To let my creativity flow in other ways.  Using the book “you can draw in 30 days.” I’d say not to bad for not drawing in forever. 

Funny how old past times fade away, becoming a distant memory. 
Re kindled by a new flame
Sadly snuffed out by fear
A notion that it can never be brought back
It’s time
Stop hiding
And start tending to the fires within.

Committing

Today is the first day, another beginning.  Another way we (I) find myself committing to a list of to do’s, goals, aspirations and intentions.  And sometime along the way, I get lost.  I forget.  Get to busy living life.  Yet, I am not really living am I.  I get too busy going through the motions and forget everything I mapped to accomplish.  I want to say this year is different.  That I have a system in place.  That feels clique. Old.  Warn out.  As if I have heard it before.  Because I have.  That is not going to stop me.  I am committing.  Committing to writing.  To creating.  To making a difference.  One day at a time.  One step at time.  Here’s to new starts.  Here’s to hope!

What will you commit to doing this year?