Sometimes, I balance
Heavy weights of opposing choices –
Loving the voice
My misery gives me,
And being happy.
(I’m only creative,
When I’m being hated,
Mostly by my own volition.)
Of this condition, I know for certain:
When I’m not hurting?
I am not able to write;
It’s a precarious, purposeful plight.
I was hoping you could give me a respite,
Or offer some insight
Into a possible cure,
Because I’m not sure,
Alone I can release the attachment.
Maybe it’s the way it makes me feel;
The way it makes me real;
I used to play pretend and conceal,
Just how much I wasn’t feeling.
But, nowadays, I deal
By reeling in all the suffering
And jotting it down for prosperity.
It’s all thanks to you:
You’re my greatest inspiration.
And I’m sickly grateful,
For the motivation.
My choice is easy, isn’t it?