Can’t live without it

Sometimes we walk away from the things we were passionate about doing as kids, but that passion never leaves.

Deep inside you can feel the weight of the pit.
You’re hacking up your lungs while terrified. You’re trying to spit,
but you cannot forget.
And you want to but you cannot repent
or turn away from all the thoughts and trials you represent.

What we believe about ourselves right now is going to serve
to read the past aloud but sanctified if you’ve got the nerve.
So every word
you’ve ever uttered, even absurd,
goes from your mouth to the people’s. A delightful hors d’oeuvre.

Might not be much but the people gather, ready for feasting.
They’ll devour your life from childhood while always increasing.
They’ll never be ceasing,
and even worse, they’ll never be piecing
all the clues that point to your built up habits of self-policing.

When you were a kid you had some issues, no one denies,
but what they ignore is all the good behind all the lies.
Good burger with fries.
You grew up hoping to impact the lives
of those you love, and maybe those you will. But you’re paralyzed.

There’s a fear now where there was once passion. Heart beating fast.
Something pulled you to a sea of action. A ship to your mast.
But that did not last.
Your interests waned. The judgement surpassed
whatever love you had for that one thing with no hope to last.

But it’s been itching you lately. You want back in the game.
Just like me with writing as a kid, trying to stay sane.
I’m gonna try it again.
This itch is bringing me pain.
We gotta dig deep with our nails. Under flesh it’s ingrained.

And when you find it, you’ll know it’s true. Think back to you as a kid
and the excitement that you had was palpable. No way this is mid.
Just put in your bid.
Then try it out and try to get rid
of all the hate you repeated to yourself. You love it? You did.

But now
I have
a choice
to start
once more
and I
will not
give up
the day
I die.

And if I try to stop me, may God have mercy on my soul.

I wrote this tonight because my whole life I’ve been writing, or wanting to. When I was 5 years old in my first year of public school I would write short stories and my teacher let me read them to my classmates during story time. That love for writing continued until I internalized what the haters were telling me and believed I could never be a good writer.

Maybe I won’t ever be a good writer. That call is still out to be made. All I know is that I constantly want to write something, anything, and then I judge myself until I put the desire aside.

Lately, through reading and writing so much more than I have in years, I’m finding I am at war with myself and the judgements from others that I’ve held onto. Maybe you are in that same war over some other hobby or passion you chased after as a kid and let die along the way.

This bit of writing is me saying, “I’m done listening to the haters, even the one living inside of me.”

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