This is half poetry post, half processing. Half-baked? 😕
Of late, I am writing more. That should be good, right? I have a lot to say. Yet, almost I am feeling as if I am beginning to pump a drying well.
Really. This stuff doesn’t seem as good as prior efforts. And, I actually looked at stats. I make it a practice not to in this happy, non-ambitious world I have set up here. But, I did. And they seem… low. Sigh.
Maybe, I am just too hard on myself. Maybe I need to not read too much into absence. Or I might just have realized I can’t fully escape the approval seeker inside. I don’t know. At any rate, I don’t know just what I am seeing, but I know I don’t like it…
Sometimes, I wonder if I will ever
Truly be content in myself,
Even in this, my blessed haven of
I snatch at bits and pieces,
Sharing morsels with those precious few
I feel I can trust to see me.
I smile a moment,
Think I’ve found peace,
Only to find it gone.
Oh, there are depths
I can’t seem to get,
A place that is drying up
Before I can reach it!
And, somehow, I know I could dare not
Reveal it all
Even if I could.
Not even to the looking glass gaze.
For, yes, I often shrink from my own reflection, my friends;
I cringe and retreat to a sort of
Or, maybe, maybe… it’s just that it’s hard to
Find the right face, anyway,
My not-so-funhouse mirror maze…