It’s funny how a bubble can be burst,
How can I embody such beauty and grace,
Yet in a moment, you can steal it away,
Until I’m lost with no idea who I am,
Except the face staring back at me in a mirror.
It’s funny how a bubble can be burst,
How can I embody such beauty and grace,
Yet in a moment, you can steal it away,
Until I’m lost with no idea who I am,
Except the face staring back at me in a mirror.
I feel like I’m trying to fight the tide,
Trying to hold on and stake my place,
But I can’t help but wonder,
What happens if I let go?
I am denouncing my thoughts,
They no longer reflect who I wish to be,
For I am not something to be ashamed of,
How can I be such a monster?
When all I’ve tried to do is make you happy.
If I fought for myself,
Half as much as I did for others,
Or even against my own thoughts,
Maybe you would have stayed.
I am made of stone,
Yet if you chip away at me,
You’ll soon discover,
That all I was ever made of-
Was broken glass.
I wonder if you listen,
The silence says you do not,
Am I blind to your guidance?
Lost in the wilderness,
Praying enough to leave bruises,
For a sign, to find my way back,
The meaning lost in translation,
Is that why you never answer?
Why can’t I find the right words?
I feel like I’m trapped,
Suffocating this voice inside me,
It calls to me in the night,
But I can’t seem to speak a word.
A lot can happen in a year or so, yet as a writer, I feel as if I keep running into the same roadblock time and time again. There’s an endless outpouring of thoughts and creativity, but they seem to die on my tongue before I have chance to say them, let alone write them down. Another crisis of confidence, one might assume, but is there more to it?Read More »
I spend most of my time daydreaming or thinking about things, in fact, most of my pieces have come from daydreams or thoughts I’ve had over my morning cup of tea. The only issue is after spending that fleeting moment wrapped up in picturing this piece taking shape, letting my thoughts run away from me, I spend the moments after that writing countless drafts as I try to remember how my thoughts worded it.
I am well acquainted with pressing the backspace on my keyboard, with crumpled up ideas thrown away in the bin. When it comes to sitting down to writing, I find it almost impossible not to doubt myself.