I am five poems away from finishing The volume Handprints on my soul…and I am struggling with my writing…Not because I am unable – obviously. I just have too many topics and too many thoughts… so many that I have been fighting Insomnia. The end of a volume is always an anxious time for me. It is when I question my writing. It is when I question my motives. It is when I question my value…

Yesterday I answered a poem with a poem. The first poem was written by someone I love very much. A child I had given up at birth because I felt myself in a poor position to care for them. The child is now grown and I am amazed by the similarity they have to me. Also a talented poet, they posted one to their Facebook page. I have in the past found it fun to respond to poets with poetry…A slightly odd behavior perhaps but I find it a fun challenge. (I have been specifically responding to haikus written by my friend, on his Facebook feed In haiku because I find the syllable count to be challenging.) So I did not think twice to do the same with my child. Their reaction surprised me.

They said that they would never be as good as I am. I responded that they already were. In some ways that is such a lie. I see their poetry as better than my own. I see everyone who writes as better than my own. I am incredibly biased. I will never stop seeing the flaws in what I write. Though I imagine that most authors do the same. The problem is though I have some days where my writing is brilliance…I also have the days where putting more than one word on paper feels impossible.

I have days that I feel like I am too insane to be allowed to speak – much less use my voice to put something into this world that will be around for an indeterminate amount of time. (That is what writing is you realize? Passing your thoughts into the hazy future for the random person to read.) And I end up feeding the darkness of those days with my own self doubt and anxiety. That is why I refuse to be jealous of other writers or artists. Why I just judge my work and no one elses (unless I am editing their work which is when I am trying to help them get it to a state of technical perfection…) I shy away from people who cannot understand that I do not require judgement or want to be around jealousy. Those things make me harder on me. Instead I need honesty and just simply to be accepted for who I am.

Today I am a poet. I am strange and I am quiet. I am introvert. I am a writer. I am an explorer. Who are you?

Ps I also seem to update the blog more at the end of a volume…mostly because as I stated…This is when I am questioning myself more so I end up coming here with the random thoughts of am I good enough…knowing that I will never hear the answer I am needing to here.