One Step Away

I write this today

Because lately,

I've had something

Nagging my brain

And pulling at my heart...

I write this in stanza-

Simply because,

I have honestly lost the capability

To write any other way.

My friends and I constantly joke

About how all of my Facebook comments

Are too-

In stanza;

With that said-

I feel like it's time to stop hiding the burning truth

That I've never felt confident enough to admit

Due to fear of rejection:

I really do feel like was born to write poetry...

Born to be published?

Maybe someday...

Born to be famous?

Probably not...

But born to write?

Oh my soul!

My spirit survives on poetry.

And through it-

I have found Christ; my daily bread.

Is there a better thing than to write?

I would die if I could not write.

My will to live would be gone.

There would be nothing.

With that said...

I have to note

That many people have posed the following question

(Not just lately-

But over the past few years as well):

"Why have you not been published?"

To which I seem to always respond:

"Well...I've never really tried...maybe someday though!"

I really don't know why this is...

I once read a passage on how God

Gives us special gifts

To ignite a flame in the world.

What if writing really is mine?

The truth is-

The one thing that stops me from pursuing publishing is doubt.

Doubt.

And where does doubt come from?

I doubt my work.

I doubt myself.

I doubt my impact.

And I cannot tell you

How many times I have received emails

From both people that I know

And people that I do not-

Pleading for me

To be published.

A frequent phrase I hear is:

"I'd be the first in line to buy your book! DO THIS! PLEASE?!"

But something in me..

Some

Fear

Keeps me one step away.

I always look at Dickinson.

And I am in love with the idea

Of that mystery;

Having poetry falling out of

Sock Drawers and Hat boxes.

And due to this-

I have accumulated over 70 spirals

Full of work throughout my life.

But still...

In storage they sit.

Emily once wrote:

"A word is dead when it is said-

Some say...

I say it just begins to live that day."

But how can anything live

In a box;

Never exposed to

Air and sunlight?

Unfair.

Perhaps it is my defeatist attitude;

I chase perfection

And when I see flaws

I convince myself I am no good.

But I made God a promise

In December...

That this semester,

If he led me back to Nashville-

I'd compose...

I'd strive.

What's it going to take to

Get this going?

I see people younger than me

Pursuing the things I wish to pursue

Such as publication-

Beginning far after I've begun

And being published far faster

Than I believe I ever could

If I tried.

If I tried...

I wonder what would happen...

If I tried.