I’m compiling my first poetry book, or so I thought. I’m all over the place. I can’t decide if I want to publish a book of poems written over the years, or write and release all new poems, from where I’ve arrived as an artist and poet. So I’ve been praying over the idea of releasing a poetry book. I’m praying that this is the right time and these are the right words. I am praying over it’s purpose and my purpose. I am praying I hear my spirit clearly. I am also praying for the time, space and patience to write what I feel or hear…
I am frustrated. I am frustrated that I’m tired so often. It seems there are a million little survival things required of me…washing dishes, cleaning, eating, working and I should be working out too. Writing seems to be a luxury. Even this blog, I’m writing with a headache and nausea… I miss Linny, Coley, 1914 and sitting in the silence of my thoughts weaving a story.
Every day I’ve been telling myself, “Tomorrow.” But then tomorrow comes and there are other things that need to be done. Writing doesn’t need me the way my job, girlfriend and friends do. Writing doesn’t call or text me at all times of the day asking me to give it something or to do something… It’s just, like a nagging guilt, and I have so much guilt over other things it’s often drowned.
I’m praying for an opportunity to be still… and project my light.