Words fail me lately because I feel overwhelmed
By the uncertainty of future work
(At times by the uncertainty of the future. period.)
Some days struggling, the next ones in peace
Then momentarily "freaking out" again
Even though I know I should not worry
My silence is not entirely on purpose
I am busy or, after busy days with hours of driving,
Tired, physically and mentally
Exhausted and sleepy, thinking of writing, but
Only reading (or listening to books in the car) instead
The urgency of writing and sharing mostly gone
Since nobody seems to read anymore
(or at least to comment)
I write for myself, though,
So the silence must be broken
Words are therapeutic and heal
Or at least help make sense
Of thoughts and feelings
So here I am, breaking the silence,
Trying to find the words again
Because I must
Words
And when they fail me it hurts
& I don't like this dulling pain,
So I use them again
(even though what hurts the most is the keen awareness that I'm not as good with words as I wish I'd be
that, for me, is the heartbreaking part.
I write because I must, but with a painful sense of failure already)
that's why this will be unfinished
I hope to finish by living
2 comments:
For me, the power of blogging has been not trying to be a good writer. Some people are wonderfully literary writers, but I find that I clam up under that pressure and am better off not having any bar for my blog writing at all.
Failure? I smile reading that, because I don't think failure is what's happening here at all.
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