Update on “The Rise of Self-Doubt”

On September 26, 2018, I published a post about a poetry contest I was interested in entering. I expressed feeling a great deal of self-doubt about my talent and ability to produce an entry worthy of submitting into the contest. After receiving several messages of encouragement, I decided to throw my hat into the ring, and I entered my poem into the competition. Now, as with all contests, the waiting begins. I will find out either way by the end of December whether or not I placed or not. Fingers crossed.

Have Faith

“Have faith.” She tells me

But how can you have

Faith in the faithless?

How can you have faith

In someone who has

Let you down

More than they have

Raised you up?

How can you trust

Your heart with

Someone who never

Sees your feelings

As valid.

Who builds herself up

By tearing you down

Over and over again.

“Have faith.” She suggests.

Never again.

Primal Grief Observed

Never have I felt this

Lack of control

Over my emotions.

I have been reduced

To a quivering,

Gasping

Shell,

Drowning in the

Ocean that falls

From my eyes.

This need to

Have her back

Is all-consuming

I’m vaguely aware

Of the pleas

Tumbling from my lips

Please send her back to me.

Please send her back.

I gulp in the air only to have

The wracking sobs

Steal it back again.

My pain so tangible

Yet I feel numb to it.

Minutes feel like hours

Until the wave finally passes

And I am deposited

Bonelessly onto the

Still unfamiliar shores

Of this cold new reality.

Turkey Crossing

Why did the turkeys cross the road?

To go back and forth again

And again and again.

I sit in my car watching them,

Watching me with their tiny eyes.

The scene is repeated in the car

Across from me.

Several cars are stuck

In this spot in the road.

While these birds

Try to make up their mind.

Which side of the road

They would rather be on.

The Rise of Self Doubt

There is this poetry contest I was excited to enter. I had this wonderful idea for a poem and have been tweaking it for weeks now. As the deadline looms; however, I’ve found my enthusiasm waning and self-doubt rearing its ugly head. Does this happen to other writers? Have any of you decided to enter a contest or submit something to a publication only to experience these feelings? I keep telling myself that my work has just as much of a chance as anyone else. And I’ll never know unless I try and multiple other platitudes that sound as hollow as a ping-pong ball. Over the past few days, it’s been amazing how many ways I’ve found to not work on the poem. The deadline is October 1st, it’s creeping up so quickly and the apathy I’ve developed towards working on it has been astonishing. I want to put my writing out there. I want as many people as possible to see my work but I’m questioning my own work like it’s out to get me. I also know that a big part of being a writer is being able to handle rejection. Rationally I know how most of what I submit won’t be accepted. But it’s always that self-doubt isn’t it? That lingering fear of what I put forth won’t be good enough. The countdown continues and the poem remains unfinished. I’ll keep you posted on what happens.

The Post-It Woven Patchwork

Slowly…slowly… I am losing my mind

I can feel it happening, one thing at a time

Like the sands in an hourglass

Slowly slipping through.

Falling into some dark abyss.

I don’t want to bid adieu.

To all the times in days gone by

Whether good or bad.

They are still my memories

And losing them is sad.

So now I’m obsessively writing

Jotting everything down

Every thought and memory

Scraps of paper now surround

This little spot I sit in

With my paper and pen

So when memories are no more

I’ll be covered in them.

Like a post-it woven patchwork

A wondrous little covering

I’ll be wrapped up in them

And old memories I’ll be discovering.

Weighed Down

This grief, depression, whatever it is,

Has been weighing me down for days.

I try to move to shake it off

But it just wants to stay.

It’s been fed by trauma

And many have I had

Lately my life seems to be

Less good and more bad.

So now I just sit here

And feel life slipping by

Not caring, full of apathy

Only managing to cry

Waiting for this wave to crest

To ride it back to shore

Because I still have hope

There are still good days in store.

The Coming of Fall

Now the seasons are running down

Cooler weather has come to town.

Soon the trees will be colored brightly

And windows will be opened nightly.

To let the cold air of fall inside

And under blankets and quilts, we’ll hide.

Then comes the night when once a year

Children dress to cause terror and fear

They parade around the neighborhoods

To collect all sorts of goody-goods.

They mingle with other witches and monsters

There’s no way to tell the real from imposters.

Then when they are all tucked in tight

And their dreams are filled of creepy delights

Do the goblins and witches fly away home

To wait another twelve months to roam.

The Malfunctioning Goldendoodle

My dog is malfunctioning

I’ve noticed it outside

I don’t know how to describe it

Or if it can be classified.

I throw him the ball, and he runs

And catches up with it.

And then instead of bringing it back

He plops his butt down and sits.

He never brings the ball back

It’s a skill he sorely lacks.

While I’m running back and forth

He just seems to relax.

So it’s time to face the facts folks

Denial cannot be spoken

The poodle in him works just fine

But the retriever is definitely broken.