Impatient, yes, that would explain it all
as I pull up a story, then another and another
wanting to work on all, but none as a hint
of frazzled frosts over and my pen taps restless
against a full, or almost full notebook
Or my finger flicks and taps open files
glancing over great works of amazing feats
only to be closed with another flick.
Finish something! I rail to myself.
Don’t start anything new, as my pen flirts
With a pristine white page impatient
I’m impatient with myself so unfocused
And utterly frustrated as I read amazing
Remarkable books, an author’s loving hand
tapped out to make me envious of
all my inequalities with myself.
Wondering if I’ll ever make it writing
Or if I’ll waste years of endless words
On nothing and everything and worthless
Too much emotion in this….. I told Doña, yesterday that I was feeling burned out, and I still feel that way. Being envious of other writers has a tendancy to make me feel this way, so I think that might be all it is.
Then there’s this…
Put The Corresponding Face With
Put the corresponding emotion with the corresponding face
Says Kate on French Kiss
And right now I want to box up these corresponding emotions with the correct moment.
Happy, sad, morose, inspired; flash through me several times a day
Till I’m exhausted and not knowing what I feel
And whether or not it fits with a moment in time
Burned out, depressed, uninspired, all have had there place in one day
Then throw in excited, happy and impatient
So mixed up in feelings I’m ten people in one
Worry when I start to talk to myself
Because it’s all downhill from there if I’m more than one…
A nuerotic wreck. Clearly.