I listen compassionately to young poets; exposing their soul with naïveté unobstructed passion struggling to keep their words and truth pure, clear, coherent; and I think to myself, silent within my own insecurities, my own private courtroom – judge and jury, these are the facts, objection, overruled…I recall my own journey; my own learning curve. So many words to string together, to sort through with precision and care, applying my unique finger print to each key stroke; my personalized one of a kind signature – ultimate uniqueness. A puzzle with too many pieces, round peg in a square hole, tangled massive hand wringing knuckle cracking twisted maze expressing my aspirations, lack of – or fullness of love, fears, shame, blame and unapologetic notion that “I” as a human being have an innate gift to express without boundaries. Maybe, just maybe I’ve lost my place in the poets line, my seat on the creative roller coaster ride, my worthiness to continue to string words together – age factor relevance? Words that will reach out beyond my person into another – regardless; into an abyss of desperation or tap into a pulse rhythm line keeping the beat with a racing heart; giving it reason to pause, skip or stop for a moment – pondering. To capture a reluctant nod of affirmation; a nod of discomfort, yet, relief at the uncovering we have all experienced…being a creative or not is ageless.

My mantra, a reminder in those too frequent times when the bottom falls out from beneath me or the proverbial rug slips away, free falling panic attack, darkness is a warm blanket suffocating at times – “I’m not good enough, I’m not enough…”, turning it backwards inside out with a whisper between myself and God...”I’m OK, I’ll be OK…”

The stringing of words has been a burden and a blessing. It is like a child learning how to tie a knot with tiny fingers bound by a lacking of coordination and youth, but the lyrics continue in sweet methodical persuasion; “Bunny ears, bunny ears, playing by a tree. Cris-crossed the tree, trying to catch me. Bunny ears, bunny ears, jumped into the hole, popped out the other side beautiful and bold.” And never ever knowing if it will stay tight, knotted or come undone at first fight or self sabotage; yet attempting to keep the insecurities a distant bay knowing full well with age and wisdom nothing ever remains the same.

© TrilbyYates 2016