The Fight Continues

A continuation of yesterday’s poem…
I know what I should do. 

But I can’t seem to do it. 

I sit down with hope. 

I can’t sift through it. 

Pencil meets paper. 

So thoughts can flow free.

But something is inside

Putting its grip on me.

I have more to give. 

There’s more to be told.

I must release this demon.

I must release the hold. 

The Inner Struggle

It is often through tears I find the strength to write something profound. It doesn’t take any thought. It just takes the will to let the flow of words slowly trickle out of my finger tips. I often force the need to write. I put too much emphasis in the act. I find it hard to function, to muster a sentence. Writing isn’t complicated. It just is. Your creativity should be the guide – the muse, the leader. I block these attributes. I stop myself from letting the river take its own course. I am my own enemy. The fire that burns within me flickers in a storm that grows. The flame holds to a wick that is weak. The wind picks up speed and the rain starts to drown the only light I’ve ever known. The waves crash against the rocks and the noise deafen the words screaming to be free. I am the small boat, lost at sea, holding a candle that struggles to light the way. I risk it all only feeling my candle will cease and I will drown.

I often talk of the storm, the candle, the flame – all the metaphors that are my life. I don’t know of any other way to describe how I feel. The metaphors somehow let everyone know my inner struggle. My desire to become a person I try to hold back, a person I fear. She is vibrant, free, fearless, and successful in everything she attempts. There isn’t a word, an action, or a doubt that stops her. She would never silence her muse. She would fight to stay a float in a raging sea. The candle would never lose it’s flame.

Through these tears, she screams to be free. She is fighting to escape me.