There is a battle raging, in one corner is Love and in the other fear.
It is an exhausting battle of thoughts versus heartbeat.
Whenever there is an important decision to make the two giants awake
Love and fear ready to battle.
Do I pursue this…
ding ding FIGHT!
Love: yes you are never as alive as when you do
Fear: That’s great but how will you sustain yourself
Should I post this blog?
Fear: Who do you think you are? this is not good!
I want to ask her out.
Love: Go go go!!
Fear: She does not like you! look at yourself, not good enough.
The fights go on and on. fear is not such a good fighter his footwork is rudimentary fear relies on what lies you believe. yet fear does pack a punch because the lies we believe hurt, fear knows where to hit.
Love fights well but often feels too simplistic keeping it to the truth, Love feels sometimes too quick to answer and leaves little explanation but itself.
Writing this book of poems revealed to me more of myself then I expected, writing poetry was something I have always done not sure if every poem I wrote would be classified as a poem (whatever that means) yet I wrote it, I remember liking a girl in primary school and writing a poem called love is like a bubble, I remember struggling with the loss of my drama teacher and writing poems of her and drama, I remember writing raps in detention about my home, family, and friends.
Writing has always, been there.
Skipping parts of the story (I don’t do that often, mostly I find ways to make the shortest of stories epically long.)
yet keeping it short.
I decide I want to write a book and in between the struggle of writing the book and being afraid to publish because I have no knowledge of that world, I decide, let me write a book of poems as I find poetry easy to write and I have a reservoir of poems waiting let me just compile them together.
DING DING FIGHT!
inside me, I hear the voices pushing and pulling Love and fear to battle.
The raging thoughts, is this good?
You are a performance poet, not a writer.
your intentions are not pure.
what does this mean, why do it? is this even a poem? I started doubting in myself in something I was confident about and suddenly I crumbled with doubt.
this revealing battle is good, exhaustingly good I did not have the truest intention at the start I just decided to write Name (my compilation of poems) because I wanted to prove to people I could finish something and approached the book, as Max Kenton told his dad in real steel “you went in there cocky and half-assed”,
I was guilty of this and at the end made my work so much more, the battle revealed to me things of myself which at times was hard to see yet necessary, and often the battle revealed beautiful truths my strength, my voice, my heart.
What I have realized well at least in my case is it does not matter who the better fighter is, you chose, you hold the winner’s hand, you are the decider.
You raise the hand at the end of the fight.
Do I pursue my dreams…
Whose hand are you holding?