Why, when life is going well and each thing in its place,
Do I seek out a living hell, and lose all sight of grace?
I feel without a single thing I couldn’t self-correct.
Instead, I ruin everything, and lose all self-respect.
I mean, of course, that awful time I make my heart upset,
Believing I must post right now, or live with deep regret.
I fear, those times, that I will lose all my reader gains;
If I can’t type some words right now, my misery remains.
Not worrying about this situation is the way
I should approach that random thought. And yet, all I can say
Is that I know my indecision rises from behind
Not current state, but from dark days, when I had lost my mind.
And now that I have found it, must release the need to please,
Except, of course, to let myself receive that gentle squeeze
Of reassurance, that I gain more knowledge of myself
If I remember joy, for me, comes from the page itself.
I write because I need to write. Love authoring, it’s true. So,
I set aside my haste, and only write for me, not you.