Hello! and I are excited to share the second piece in our collection of ekphrastic poetry.

Meet the Artist

This week’s poem is written from inside the work of New York abstract figurative artist and writer . His art captures the nuances of human emotion within playful figures, and his writing is guaranteed to move you. Please head to his page here on Substack or his website to see more of his work.

Mickey's Website

Mickey's page

The title of this painting is Her Kind of Friday Night. Created with acrylic, ink, and oil pastel on canvas.

Art - regular
Olly - italics

small bite of the Big Apple

I swirl the drink in my hand
Chateauneuf-du-pape
Its French
Makes me feel fancy
even with last night's take out still full on the floor where I left it
on my knees for the music

I close my eyes to feel the moment.
The city night reaches in my window
to join me in my embrace.
In my small bite of the big apple
I’m home.

soon I’ll wipe the makeup from my face 
pull off the lashes  
unclasp my mother's pearls 
I am a woman surrounded
by all that she loves 
creator of my own intimate world 

A sanctuary that can contain me.
In here I’m not too heavy to hold.
In here I need no explanation of
the parts of me I’ve yet to understand. 
Many shapes like the moon.
I’ll toast to our fullness.
This is my kind of Friday night.

^Ekphrasis

^{“Description” in Greek. An ekphrastic poem is a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the “action” of a painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify and expand its meaning. (from The Poetry Foundation)}

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I didn’t grow up around fireflies,
but I saw them once in late springtime
in Arkansas in black night sky.
Thought they were stars, doubted my eyes
when they danced in front of moonlit pines.

I saw them again on a summer's eve
in Vermont's long dusk, they moved through trees.
We talked of nets but let them be.
A childlike delight to see.
But that’s not what firefly means to me.

I think of a poet that I never met.
That I don’t know but can’t forget.
She wrote of fear, she wrote of hope
in poetry and daily notes.
She wrote when flashes in the sky
were not the lights of fireflies.

Bombs dropped.
Missiles roared.
She wrote the terror.
Wrote it raw.

I, not much more than a stranger,
saw her light, it signaled danger.
Signaled healing, signaled hurt.
She shone her light upon her words.
Writing to the depths of her
To find the love we all deserve.

I read her, helpless, bleeding heart.
Tapped the like to do my part
A futile try to say “I’m here”
and then one day
she disappeared.

Where oh where do fireflies go
to find a place that’s safe?
Without the burden to burn bright.
To recharge luciferase?

Where oh where do fireflies go
after the dark of night?
Do they find peaceful fields to play?

You know,
I think they might.

For , written from ’s prompt.

Thank you for reading. Your attention is valuable and I’m honored to have it. If you have time to read another, here is one of my favourites.

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I edge close to the crowds.
I like to feel the warmth.
To pretend I’m part of something.

I want to belong.
Be loved.
Be liked.
Be lifted.
Be enjoyed.

People find people.
Strangers become friends.
Common ground and connections
congregate with their selections
and I walk in between as an acquaintance.
Known of but not known.

Shaking hands.
Patting backs.
Close enough to imagine being integral.
Close enough to sense the shape of you.
Close enough to form an us only I can see.
Making you a part of me
long before I become a part of you.

If ever.

Is this what it means to have imaginary friends?
The people are real,
the friendships imaginary.
Keeping people at arm’s length
wary of intent.
You can’t be left if you’re already alone.

Now that I’ve grown, I’m closer to me.
Unconscious self-preservation,
scared to be fully seen.
A rejection of this version would sting too bad.
I won't have to get over something I never had.

Maybe I’m afraid of who I’ll become
—again.
Riding on high
I want to come along
holding on
skitching as we pick up speed.
You hit the brakes
and I fly into traffic.

I dive in headfirst
before checking the depth
left to mend a broken neck.

I’m safe at this distance
here in denial.
And I smile
because even if I thought you thought I belonged,
I’d wait by the door just in case we’re both wrong.

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I don’t want you.
I want the me you bring.
Inject your electric
under my skin.

Fill me with words
until I overflow.
Dripping in rhymes
from head to toe.

It opens me up
to a limitless sky.
I look up and drink
My tongue never dry.

Show me the door
to the me I become.
Why does you existing
make me come undone?

A curious effect
with no explanation.
My catalyst for creation.

And you’ll never even know—
That is the savior.
But I swear if I could,
I’d return the favor.

Thanks for giving me your time and attention. It’s what I crave. But just in case you wanna take it even further, I’ll leave this button right here…

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Welcome to the first piece in our ekphrastic poetry collection.

Ekphrasis

“Description” in Greek. An ekphrastic poem is a vivid description of a scene or, more commonly, a work of art. Through the imaginative act of narrating and reflecting on the “action” of a painting or sculpture, the poet may amplify and expand its meaning. (from The Poetry Foundation)

Meet the Artist

This poem is written from inside of the beautiful artwork of . The painting is titled Broken Precious Things. Created with watercolor, gouache, and charcoal on waxed canvas. Please go check out her page and show some love. We had a hard time deciding which piece to use as she has so much incredible work. You will not regret clicking through to her page.

Art - regular
Olly - italics

Myth & Mystic

The willow weeps when enchanted beauty cries.

A bouquet of blossoms at your bosom collects the water from your eyes.

You are mother, we are nature, standing by your side.

Oh fair one, what grief has stricken you?


I watch from the trees at the shore.
enrapt, with a bleary gaze.

while the wind rustles the reed
where as a foal I grazed.

I whisper to the mother
of the magic within.


Dive in.

Meet with your reflection as you break the tension with your skin.

Send your love in ripples; let it absolve you of your sin.

Dissolve into the lake that you are.


Your essence pools
in each blemish and scar.

You are my very being
my ivory, the fall of my hair.

The light on the water
my soul laid bare.


Separated only by the form we wear.

I am myth, you are mystic.

Our existence, intrinsic.

Oh precious thing, I am you.

Thank you for reading :) If you enjoyed this, please consider subscribing.

Sarah Jane Lambert's page

Olly Von's page

The Art of Being's page

It's not looking good;
I’m hopeless.

                    I still dream of the future;
                               I’m looking forward.

I can’t find the purpose;
I’m lost.

                      I have so much potential;
                                               I’m excited.

I haven’t arrived yet;
I’m wasted.

I’m painfully average;
I’m normal.

I'm not like the others;
I’m different.
                       
                         I have so much already;
                                              I’m grateful.

I’m far from great;
I’m needy.

                   There’s so much to live for;
                                              I’m honored.

There’s so much suffering;
I’m paralyzed.

There’s so much to be done;
I’m exhausted.
                       
The world is on fire;
I’m hot.

There’s nothing I can do;
It feels cold.

The worst is ahead;
I’m bracing.

                                          So is the best;
I hope.

My muse this week was Harry Styles. I went to see Project Hail Mary with my kid this a few days ago. I’ve had the song Sign of The Times in my head since. It got me thinking about how it feels right now in these times, whatever that means. It’s a bit of a mixed bag, and that’s ok.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate you being here.

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There’s a quiet part of my mind that feels ancient.

Where words dissolve at the door of description,
for the task alone cannot convey.

All we’ll need to know fits in the space between breaths.

You can only see it with your eyes closed,
walking backwards.

Meet me there.

-------------------------------------

Breathe in
and let’s slip out at the top—

everything minus the matter

Vibrating holograms
with no jurisdiction 

they’ll never catch us
they won’t even know we’re gone

-------------------------------------

I slipped into a dream.
Tried to bail out with the fall but the bottom kept getting further away.

I can’t tell you what I saw. 

The only thing I can do now is let my eyes melt into my face and run down
the lines of my nervous system.
To evaporate everything
into clouds of glitter. 
A disco ball forever expanding. 

I must die now, before I’m done living.
Burn and let the ash float upwards.
Let it dance. 
I will scatter every beam of light 
back to the day.
Or the night.
It’s not mine.

Thanks for reading ;) Here’s a subscribe button if you’re feeling it.

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Or you could stay for one more? It’s short, I promise.

Another poem?

Binary stars

Drifted too close.

The pull was too strong.

They collided

Burned hot.

Unstable brilliance.

Exploding.

For a second we outshined galaxies.



But in this lifetime you’re not mine to love.

Our orbit can keep us alive.

To keep creating

I must love you finitely

Or not at all.

Our distance is devotion

And I must love the limits.

Without them

Nothing could pull on us.

We could not bend each other’s path.

We cannot exist

Any other way.

Thank you for reading ;)

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The space around you

is touching me

I can feel you on my skin



I’m soaking

You in



I’m watching you

reach for your drink

All I can think about

is letting you sink

your teeth into

my thighs


Your eyes meet mine

I’m tidally locked

Time is collapsing

My breathing stops

I’m pulsing electric

You expose my neck

Lick your lips

Mine are next

You’re an island

I’m a wreck



Don’t leave me stranded

I’m afraid to drown

I’m scared I’ll need you

Wrap your fingers around

The back of my head

Entwined in my hair

Pull me into you

and meet me there

Lift my face to yours

You take the first sip

I’m slipping under

Going down with the ship

I’m trembling

Aching

Burning through fear

Naked. You take me

With you I disappear

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One more for the road

You are the way you are

Because you’ve been the way you’ve been

From the things that you have done

And the things that you have seen

And the places that you went

And the people that you knew

And the stories that you told

That formed the you you know as you



Don’t be so upset

For not being what you’re not

I wish you wouldn’t hide

All the edges that you’ve got



Those edges are just fine

They’re proof of being human

When you press up to the edge

You have the chance to choose then



Stay uncomfortable and pressed

Or go back to status quo

Or choose to push the edges

So the space inside them grows



But it doesn’t really matter

You can do it how you do

For you are the way you are

And I love you for being you.

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Read another?

I looked closely at his rhymes and cadence and wrote within the confines of that. It was challenging and illuminating. I think I am the better for it. I was already a fan of his since childhood. My older brother bought The Eminem Show on CD. It was the first time I heard someone with that kind of fire behind their words, and more importantly, the audacity to disregard the consequences of saying them. I was enthralled. It’s only now that I am sharing my own writing that I realize how hard and vulnerable of a thing that is to do. This has given me a new level of appreciation for his work. It’s art.

If you know Eminem, please show him this. He’s not on Substack.

She learned to breathe, a slow return to free.

Turned a flashlight on herself until she earned her peace.

She fights, to get the light she had to burn and grieve.

It’s not bad; the old her had to leave.

So she’s “healed” now, and real proud revealing how

but fills up with doubt anytime she feels the cloud,

she’s heading south, shouldn’t she know better? How’s

she drowning now? Lost sight. Going down.

Slam back to duality. Here it’s all gravity.

Here it all matters, she fears her identity,

clear for us all to see, near

to insanity. Years of fears try to repeat,

but she wants to be free, so she cries

to release all the ties underneath

soon she finds she can see relief

then she sets sights to the light again.

Oh, this whole life thing.

Let's capture the moment, the moment is all we have.



I hope you find yourself in the mindset, no regret,

you reset. I hope you learn to let go.

You can start anytime, there’ll always be a chance to grow.

You only get to be you in this one lifetime though.



I hope you find yourself, in the right place, and feel safe

to erase what you told yourself you know.

You don’t have to carry shit; you can just get up and go.

This opportunity lasts a fucking lifetime yo.

Thanks for reading. (Or rapping if you were really getting into it.) If there is any interest in a second verse, I may add to this later.

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Tip Jar 🫙

After burner roar.

Your thrust makes us soar.

On the ground scream for more.

Suck squeeze bang blow.

Show me how fast you go.

You’re the star of the show.

Rattle my heart as you

do a loop de loop 

like we want you to.

Recruit the youth.

They wanna be like you.

Fly high like you.

Be admired like you.

We are strangers

to your range, so 

we enjoy the danger.

To us you’re entertainment.

Roar through the air.

This is warfare.

On the ground screaming prayer.

Bombs drop bang blow.

Is it their time to go?

Is it you that says so?

How much more will you do? 

Shattered heart from you.

Scattered parts from you.

Recruiting their youth.

They’ll seek revenge.

Creating broken men.

What then?

No strangers to pain.

You made it rain 

again, and again.

To them you are the danger.

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Thank you for reading. Subscribe if you would like to read more. I won’t flood your inbox, I’m too slow at writing for that.

One more for the road?

I think I’ll stay here a while.

A fine spot to linger.

A perfectly still lake

until I run a finger

along its edges.

Ripples quiver from my touch.

My spine shivers at the thought

of diving in but that is much

too much.

....

The lake settles back to stillness.

I settle at my core,

but there’s something too familiar

that feels restless in the boredom.

….

Perhaps I’ll dip my feet in

smoke a cigarette or two.

I know that I know better,

but sometimes better just won’t do.

I want my pulse to quicken,

nicotine in my blood.

A taste for something bad for me.

Shall I cover me in mud?

Shall I take off all my clothes

and swim out of my depth?

Pretend I know you’ll save me

But I don’t know that yet.

Masochist and sadist,

I play both parts well.

Drink in all my kisses

before I slip down to hell.

Shall I undo all the lessons

and confessions that I gave?

I swear I count my blessings

but something in me craves

to make the wrong decisions

My vices have me bound.

I pray for some provisions

to save the peace I’ve found

Let's self-destruct together

Before I put them back to bed,

let me taste sin upon the lips

of the voices in my head.

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I wish I was born wearing a cardigan, smoking a cigarette with a raised eyebrow and curiosity so deep it would’ve drowned me in Plato and Kant.

I wish I had studied it at school. When I was young, I was the one everyone thought would go to university, get degrees, and be successful by a particular definition.

Instead, they watched potential get left untouched, buried, and forgotten about. It became the unknown source of pain and frustration whenever I failed to accomplish something.

I felt it every time I quit. Every time I made excuses. Every time I sabotaged. Every time I rebelled. Every time I self-destructed. My psyche was in survival mode.

I found philosophy when I reached a threshold of failure and life stopped making sense. It became the only recognizable thing. It said, “You have questions; let’s talk about it.” I found it while trying to claw my way back to reality and save my own life.

I’m not mad about all that; it was part of the process. I wouldn’t have arrived here if everything didn’t fall apart.

So, I don’t have any degrees, but I am successful by my own definition. I don’t currently have access to a college, study groups, curricula, or much time so I have to be content with how much I can realistically study philosophy now.

The way I arrived at philosophy is also the way that I study it, by using my own self as my subject. I am, after all, the proud owner of a mind experiencing the reality, morality, knowledge, and existence that philosophy discusses.

Humility and compassion were both prerequisites and outcomes of this work. There was a threshold of capacity that needed to be crossed. Without it, this type of self-study was inaccessible to me and wouldn’t yield lasting results. It actually had a negative effect.

Once I crossed that threshold, humility and compassion grew along with me. The threshold of failure made philosophy visible, and the threshold of capacity made it useful.

I use observation, self-inquiry, and feedback loops. The entry point is thought.

When a thought catches my attention, I have a few options: I can take it at face value, for better or worse. I can notice it and move on. Or I can peel back its layers and try to learn the complexities of what created it and, in turn, what it itself creates.

All options have their time and place, but the latter is the part I consider to be the biggest teacher, and now that I’m no longer in survival mode, I find it fun.

I pay attention to myself and my patterns. The majority of the time, it’s discomfort that flags something as worth looking at. This leads to questions. I approach those questions with as much honesty and kindness as I can; it’s not effective otherwise.

Then I distill it, explore it, test my theories on myself, and take that data and try to understand it. If and when the revelation clicks, I apply, apply, apply.

Then I fuck it up because I’m human. The fuck up gives its own data. Then I’ll adapt and apply again for an undetermined amount of time. This is my process for the biggest or smallest thing. I don’t go chasing waterfalls patterns. They present themselves in due time.

I sometimes turn to others for perspectives I might have missed. I’ll go back to one of the many books I haven’t finished, or I’ll try something new. I can usually find something pertinent to my questions in whatever I pick up. I am not that well-read compared to others, mainly because time and I are in an ongoing custody dispute.

When I’m too busy to read, I’ll listen to podcasts. However, it’s been vitally important to learn not to automatically adopt well-communicated ideas as my own. I have to hold them as potential truth, not THE truth.

I study other people too. I learned to read people early, probably in order to respond accordingly. I can read the lines on your face and the space between the ones you don’t say. It’s effective, but exhausting, and I can never have all of the data.

I can only view it through my own awareness anyway so it’s not that beneficial. If my mind is the only one that I can get all the way inside, I may as well utilize it.

It does seem beneficial however, to relate what I learn about myself to others. We’re all individuals, but not that different the more you peel away.

I’ve noticed this process seems to have a cumulative effect. The more I learn and the more filters I remove from my perspective, the less noise there is. This seems to give me more access to those revelations. The type of aha moments that have the ability to change the way I operate.

The aha on its own isn’t enough to create anything lasting, but it has the potential to. These understandings sometimes arrive in a particular way, with intention but without effort. Which is a new thing for me that I find very cool, and it could use its own essay.

I also seem to have access to more love. Not the kind you collect and deposit in things outside yourself. The kind that’s a way of being; a mode I can operate from.

This has all had real, tangible effects on my life. There is no returning to who I was before. I’ve crossed a point of no return. What that point was, is something I’m still unclear on.

I don’t know if it coincided with crossing the threshold of capacity or if it came later. After that point I never tried to fully return but that doesn’t mean that it wouldn’t have been possible.

My highly emotional mind has now been joined by reasoning and logic. A combo that I am a big fan of. But that isn’t the destination; I’ll forever be in the middle of the journey.

I’m not trying to go anywhere. In fact, the only place I’m trying to be is here and that’s actually the trickiest part. So, I’ll keep trying to learn as I live. Only now not for survival, but because why not? There’s always a takeaway if you want it.

Throughout writing this essay, insecurity has crept in more times than I can count. I’ve become aware that I get insecure when I’m not as knowledgeable as others.

I want people to think I’m smart. Which is ridiculous because I’m perfectly content with my intelligence level. The insecurity lies in how I’m perceived, not how I really am.

I don’t want people to mistake lack of knowledge on a topic for lack of intelligence. With philosophy, that insecurity creeps in a lot. It’s a pretty dense world to venture into. I can end up feeling out of my depth.

I’m trying to learn to see this as a good thing. They say if you’re the smartest person in the room, you’re in the wrong room.

Sometimes now I’ll read something and find a lesson that I already arrived at. For a fragile ego, that’s the biggest fucking validation ever. To come to similar conclusions, in my run of the mill brain, as masters of the field have.

It reminds me that I don’t need elbow patches to have a seat at this table. I’m a human asking questions, and that’s enough.

This essay is hopefully a step toward being more comfortable with letting people in on the secret that I’m not a savant. I am, in fact, remarkably average. Let’s keep it between us, though.

I once heard wisdom described as knowledge and understanding, applied. I don’t know if that’s true, but it feels like it fits, so perhaps I’m on the right track.

I’ll never be a Master of Philosophy. Or any of the subjects I dip my toe into. There’s been a lot of dipping, due to who I am as a person.

But I figure if I study everything from the angle of my own personal awareness, and what it teaches me about me, I will, in fact, end up as a master of something—

Myself.

If you made it this far. Thank you :)

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Read one of my poems

You kept it didn’t you?

It wasn’t yours and you kept it anyway like it meant something about you.

Bet you thought if you could bury it deep enough it would go away.

You did good kid. You buried it real well. You did what you had to.

But the trouble is…

When you buried it, it became part of your foundation. And every brick you’ve laid since is comprised. Compensating for it. It spreads and grows through the mortar like mold. And it’s making you sick.

Because it wasn’t yours.

And whether you take this slowly brick by brick or you rip this thing straight outta the mud…

There’s something you oughta know…

The whole house is gonna come down.

It has to. The one you built only works with the old foundation. 

Hey, it’s good news if you think about it. You get to build it back exactly how you want it. 

Ah you did so good kid, don’t you dare beat yourself up. You got through it. You should be proud of that.

But it was never yours. 

Now, you get that thing and you turf it out because you don’t need it, ya hear me? 

And don’t go thinking you have to give it back to wherever you got it—most times they don’t accept it anyhow.

One more thing, while I got you. And this is important. Ain’t nothing wrong with you, okay? Didn’t mean nothing about you then and it don’t mean nothing now. 

‘cause it wasn’t yours, kid. 

It was never yours.

If you enjoyed this, you might like one of my other pieces:

If I were God,
the all-knowing everything.
I think I’d want the chance
to do some discovering.

I’d have to find a way
to give me something
to discover.

To know something
aside from myself.
Something other.

I’d create, from myself,
a really special place
where things could take form,
separate them with space.

There would be time.
So I could measure
how far it’s come.

Time has to move
to measure growth.
It can’t all just be one
big moment.

I’d need a way to stay in touch.
I’d create a knower
to know the mystery is such.

I would make that knower
perfectly imperfect,
or else it’d be too easy
and the mystery not worth it.

I’d give them words.
So they can connect and convey.
I hope they’d know they’re loved,
even when they go astray.

For they know not what they do.
It would have to be like that.
You don’t look for something
if you know where it’s at.

Hide and seek is no fun
if you know the hiding spot.
Just like I can’t remember myself
’til I’ve forgot.

If you didn’t feel struggle,
you wouldn’t search for peace.
If you knew that you were perfect,
you wouldn’t search for me.

I’d leave clues
all throughout the fabric of the place
to hint that I’m the sun
that shines upon your face,
and I’m the stars,
and I’m the breath
that breathes life into your bones.
You’d have music, math, and ideas
to find your way home.

There would be clues that I’m the light
on the outside, and the in.
And when you find a clue,
you’ll pull the thread,
and you’ll begin
to unravel
all the things you thought you knew.

And at the end,
you’ll see it was me.
And all along,
I was in you.

Thanks for reading. I’m not a religious person. But I really enjoy studying ontology in my leisure time and this poem came about because of that. I am not a fan of the word God as it comes preloaded with personal meaning, and that differs a lot from one person to the next. However I wanted to use personification in this piece, and the name God seemed to fit the bill.

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The ground burned at our heels. You didn’t hesitate.

You swept me away and didn’t look back

to know if it left ruin or growth in our wake.

There was no way to predict our track.

Filled with the heat that had spawned our conception.

Wrapped in a blur both lovers and friends.

We devour our path, in any direction.

I will whirl with the wind and with you ‘til the end.

This was written in response to ’s prompt ☝️

If you’re interested, I would love for you to take a look at some of my other pieces 👇

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I arrived at the theatre. It arrived unto me.

Not here exactly but I belong to it, it belongs to me.

The only home I’ve known, through the eyes of a guest.

I know these tapestries. The wooden arm rests.

I’ve sat in these seats and filled them with plenty.

Performed to full houses and ones that were empty.

I hear scores I’ve wept to on knees on the floor.

I see the roles I’ve played. The costumes I wore.

The rebellious child turned antihero.

The people pleaser that never said no.

The one about a Prince who in fact was a toad.

Well, there was a few of those.

The lines I said with my chest, the ones meant to stick.

Ones that never left my mouth. The ones I ad libbed.

The room had held laughter, joy, compassion, tears.

Also, disappointment, regret, hatred, fears.

It’s all still here.

Holograms in the dust. Linger in the air.

Essence suspended. A whole life hangs there.

I climb up the steps; on the stage I stand.

The room starts to rumble as hands strike hands.

Applause, cheers, growing louder.

Love pouring, swelling prouder.

My skin pricks. Pulse quickens. Face flush.

This is all for me. Lifting me up.

Flowers fall at my feet, tears streak my cheeks.

The rumbling grows; light starts to seep.

Holes in the ceiling. Crowd on their feet.

Debris falls; the orchestra distorts.

They’re cheering for me. My final encore.

All the seats I’ve ever sat, the aisles I’ve ever walked,

the lines I’ve ever spoken reduced to dust and spores.

The lights flicker, but I’m not alone.

I’m drowning in the feeling of home.

The stage buckles as I take my last bow.

The final curtain falls now.

My life. A stage.

All the characters I played

crumble to dust as the roof starts to cave

it all fades to black.

Pages close on this chapter.

I hope that backstage

I’ll at last meet the actor.

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Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, you might like some of my other poems ⬇️

I choose my words carefully 
curated compassion. 
It’s important to fashion words of love 
there’s no need to ration
but it takes work

to make my intentions purposefully pure. 
There was a time I thought
that success was a finite resource
and if I acknowledge yours
there’s less for me than before
But now I find joy in lifting people up
but of course,

I can’t control the receiver. 
I can't control how you see or
what it means about me for
your perspective is free
to paint what it wants.

Your opinions are none of my business
but I witness how people take things,
misconstrue and then twist it. 
Turn an explicit implicit.

Now my neuroses are firing
shall I explain myself to death,
or perhaps I’ll be silent?
But silence never holds long
despite how much I try it.
It feels like violence.

So I rise up and I speak. 
Now I'm unsafe,
I realise people
can’t really hear me,
they hear them. 
Yet again.

I know we all work this way. 
but please don’t laugh at my expense
I did not mean to pay. 
Predator, I’m prey.

(Wait, what did I say?)

Words swim around me like laughter. 
self-esteem out the window,
confidence follows after.
Voice like Shrinky Dink hardening faster.
Ego licks her lips,
‘bout to make this a disaster.

Swallow me up. The ground is soft
where I built my identity.
The version of you I created is 
now unfairly judging me.
But if I created you,
and I am also still me,
then who else is there
inside this mirror to see?

It’s just me.

And I am no one. 
The best thing to be.
In the way
that being
no one
means that I
can be free.

Thanks for joining me on a spiral through one of my insecurities and back out the other side. I hope you enjoyed the ride. Press the button below if you wanna do this again sometime.

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Image sourced from the Public Domain Image Archive / Internet Archive / Duke University Libraries

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Where does confidence live?
Like if you don't have it
where do you look?
Maybe it's in a self-help book?
Or in your smile, or how you look?
The friends you have?
Is it in money?
In your clothes?
The moments you're funny?
Your walk,
talk?
Your disregard?
Giving a shit,
but not trying too hard?

How will you know when you have it?
Is it an overwhelming
sense of pride?
Everybody on your side?
Will you see it on the outside?
In things you achieve?
Your accolades?
Your education?
In money you've made?
Your diamonds,
gold.
Your credit score?
Your standing ovation,
the huge applause?

Where does confidence go?
Like if you had it
and it got lost.
You messed up and now don't trust
that you're worthy or good enough?
What do you do?
Do you fall apart?
If it can be taken
was it yours to start?
You're stressing,
guessing,
in your head.
Overthinking.
Feeling dread.

I know where confidence is.
I'm not saying I have it
but I've seen a way
through the lies about me, I've told each day.
It lives under them—I'm trying to say...
It can't be given,
it can't be learned,
it can't be bought,
it can't be earned.
It grows,
flows.
It cultivates.
On the inside, with love
when you put down the hate.

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