I wrote this in 2009. I was 17 years old. A sobering and morose reminder that this thing in me has been there for the majority of my life and I’ve yet to conquer it.

Insecurity.

It lurks,
threatens my every thought
Even those I don’t yet fathom.

I must be strong.

Wakes me with a kiss,
and with duplicitous panache,
stirs bittersweet introspection into my tea.

I must stand my ground.

Derisive laughter heralds it’s presence,
Ha! Ha! Ha!
an un-winnable internal battle ensues…

Please, no…

Really now?
What shit is this!?
Do you think these words, your words, matter?
How laughable! How pathetic! How naive of you!

Shake it! Just shake it off, my words DO matter!

Bullshit!
There isn’t any talent
inside your addled head,
even if there was,
who could possibly care?!
Why waste valuable time
energy and emotion when
not a single person gives a shit!?

Artistic expression doesn’t have to be anything but what it is. . .

What artistic expression?!
When I write…
Who ARE you kidding?!
I’m not trying to kid anyone.. I
Why pretend? We both you aren’t worth shit in this world!
I..

You’ve nothing to offer of yourself or anyone else
with your pitiful ”abilities”, nothing!
Look at the records!
How many have left you?
How many respect you?
How many have given you the slip?!

I begin succumb to the doubt, why fight it?
What’s the goddamned point of it all?

Fuck it!
I give up… no… we give in.