I've never shared my writing with someone who holds any level of my interest (or an emotional connection, ftm)...How can I feel so godAWFUL and empty when there's nothing wrong?
Am I lying to myself...the absence of the question mark, oh so powerfully poignant and purposeful.It always feels like I'm using someone else's words(who?)Writing so much to find that little jewel; that 'it' that puts everything into perspective: perhaps it takes a freudian slip to make sense of all of this...but where is it?
Ouch! That pang! No, I wish it was a pang, that would mean it was an obvious and sharp pain; would make it defined when clearly it's not. It's a thud. A heavy lump (at best) and it's shapeless and oozing and flat and an annoyance...that itch I can't scratch...
Because it takes so much more than a few minutes, a few weak sentences to figure out what's wrong - no matter how poignant the lyric, line or stanza. It takes work to set this straight, and it'll take more than a note to figure this one out...
Have you ever given up so completely?
I haven't.
I've bled raw emotion,
i've pulled down my walls
& I've let go of inhibitions
But to give up?
To hit rock bottom?
That's a step I'm uneasy, unwilling and perhaps even unconvinced of taking;
And why should I want to?
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