August 17, 2016


I don’t feel adequate tonight. I’m lying in secluded isolated darkness, reading over, scrutinizing my “work”, nitpicking commas, metaphors, and thoughts. Deciding whether or not to contract or extend words; which will enhance my lack of sophistication? Which will make people read and relate? By wanting to entice an audience am I not depriving my writing from any real authenticity? I am a pleaser but I am also honest. It seems nearly impossible to be true to my thoughts and appeal to others. What will draw him or her or them or they in? Will I be satisfied with the result? No. I will feel strained as I do now. I will retract into my shell of despair. Lost and filled to the brim with inner resignation.


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