"Who's a poet anyway?"
Says my inner critic everyday.
Says my scared, scarred, sacred heart.
Who dances, dreams, and believes in the gift in all things?
Says the rolling river of righteous rhythm inside my being.
Says my wise, worthy, warrior heart.
Still, I am afraid of being those things and fully opening up to "you"
- The illusion of my audience.
If I trace this fear back to it's seed, I find it exists because I am so grateful and in love with the gift of creativity - that force of life inside each of us that manifests in our own unique ways - and I'm afraid it will lead me to rejection - as it did at an early and impressionable age.
Secretly, I want my work to inspire yours, because your work inspires mine.
I want my work to be honest, raw, and perfect.
And there, among these wants, lives the land mines of my mind - triggering the pressured emotions that constrain my motion; restrain my words and my actions; and inhibit my loving presence with right here and right now.
This labyrinth of longing to be who we are - freely, forcefully, and fluidly - collects a duty on our most valuable resource: time.
So, my friend, are you hiding your light like me?
If so, then how?
Perhaps by pouring another drink, scrolling another screen, or searching for another thing?
It's OK, forgive these habitual rings and try tracing your "why" back to the seed of your heart's needs - to say the silly things, to show us the dark places, stand on the stark stages, and sing us your songs of healing.
I am a poet, a singer, a dancer, a dreamer, a joker, a husband, a brother, a son, a friend, a child, an artist, and a man.
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