I wrote them all down
my fears and failures
my self-flagellating insults
my leveling criticisms that, let's be honest,
reduce me to a pulp.
I added on panic
and shame and isolation.
I threw in my lack of faith and vision
the paralyzing sensation that I was not only alone
but that no one else was.
The paper, muddied with abuse,
looked like the mark of a crazy person
and I suppose, for all intents and purposes,
I had gone a little crazy.
Still, I made myself a good dinner
and ate it calmly as I wrote, and afterwards
I felt full and empty at the same time.
Cleansed, but brimming.
2 comments:
I love to write it all down, purge it until there is nothing left, write until there is only an expanse of space inside myself, and then walk away. When I return, and find that there is even one line that stretches itself beauty across the page, that is when I am full.
lovely!
even when I read about your panic, your crazy-making, no good night, I still envision something good coming of it, which is to say, I don't worry about you. Not when you can write like this, no, I don't worry.
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