Some Days I Disappoint Myself

I’d been going on for weeks now about re-emerging into my poetry publicly.  I wanted to market myself as a local artist once again and saw a perfect opportunity to enter into it again by attending something called, The Snow Ball.  Oh, I made all of these plans and when the day came around, I’d betrayed myself and didn’t go.  Why?  Why do I talk myself out of things?  Well, I don’t think that my new stuff is particularly inspired.  However, the irony is that I have to immerse myself into the public–that I often feel ambivalent about–to be newly inspired or to at the very least find new commentary.  I think I’ve grown tired of my own voice.  I’m not the most confident person ever even though I know that my stuff is better than average because I’ve been at it a long time.  The only thing is it good enough to spit out, commit to memory, reveal to the public?  I don’t know.  I don’t think that I could get better just by keeping it to myself, but I don’t want to paint myself into a corner and just present a one-hit wonder.  That in itself would be death to me because I do consider myself a true artist.  But the artistry makes me very shy and almost somber about it all.  I don’t know if I like a personal window-to-the-soul debut, but don’t want to hoard all of it just in case it is good.  Then, I wouldn’t feel all that inspired because it would’ve become too easy. 

So this made me think of a way that I could connect to you silent readers out there, whomever you are.  Humor me.  K-?

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About Mema

I've been at this blogging thing since 2005, but I don't consider myself a veteran AT ALL. My posts are mostly well-meaning, fun anecdotes with the occasional random thought and a dash of humor for good measure. So sit back, relax, and stay awhile. And if you decide to browse elsewhere, just remember...you're missing out on an opportunity to meet (arguably) THE GREATEST PERSON THAT EVER LIVED. Overstated? Well, why not stick around to find out? Your call, tough guy. Or, gal. Or, martian.
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