Because Words Simply Paper

It's Shit Because I Made It

There is a moment
in everyday I have been alive,
which is too many to count
and growing by the spinning
of this orb we call our home,
that I have thought about who
I want to call myself
and about finally writing that novel
I’ve been penning in my head
for so many years.

When it comes down to it,
I am the only thing
that has ever stopped me
from being truly honest with myself.
Maybe I wasn’t cut out
for this. Maybe I don’t know
why exactly I was born.
And I tell myself
every one of those days
that I will learn from my mistakes
and finally make a change.
I will finally put onto paper
what I have been thinking
all of this time.

I don’t, and it isn’t because
I have no talent with words.
But, I do believe that I simply
can’t put anything onto paper.

Except for self-motivational,
"I’ll learn my lesson,
I’ll make something of myself”
kind of bullshit that
makes me cringe and
feel stupid. I am tired
of telling myself I am better
when obviously I am worse.

And all I want to do,
every second of every day,
is finally write what I’ve been meaning to.

The sad thing is, I know what to say.
I know what I feel,
and I know what’s the matter.
And I know how to tell the story.
It’s all this contempt,
all this pent up, unreliable anger,
that keeps getting in my way.

June 1, 2008
We're Coming Close to Bridging the Gap