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-?