Something In Me Suffers Unused
I still notice the hesitation, whenever I want to make something honest and immediately hear the voice that says not enough,
I still notice the hesitation, because in sensitivity gives me vision yet also makes every glance feel sharper than it is,
I still notice the hesitation, knowing the same openness that lets beauty in also leaves me exposed to honest judgment,
I still notice the hesitation, am I truly unready or just frightened of being seen unfinished,
I still notice the hesitation, while my hands still reach for the honest work anyway…
I still know flaws, are not side notes to erase but fingerprints proving a human heart passed through here,
I still know flaws, because polished emptiness has never moved me the way wounded truth has done,
I still know flaws, though I still hide pieces of myself as if neatness were safer than resonance,
I still know flaws, am I editing life out of my failures just to avoid discomfort,
I know flaws, and the page asks for something real, not performance…
I hear the old measuring habit, when other voices seem effortless and mine, feels late rough strange or difficult to trust,
I hear the old measuring habit, and it tries to make another person’s path a verdict against my own becoming,
I hear the old measuring habit, even while knowing no borrowed voice can carry what was given only to me,
I hear the old measuring habit, am I admiring them or abandoning myself all over again,
I hear the old measuring habit, then return to the sound that only I can make…
I choose making, not because confidence arrived first but because silence had begun to wound me even deeper,
I choose making, when protection asks me to hide and expression asks me to risk sincerity all over again,
I choose making, aware that courage often looks like small repeated acts no one applauds,
I choose making, can I bear being misunderstood if it means being real and living me,
I choose making, when protection asks me to hide and expression and risk sincerity all over again, as growth rarely asks for perfection, only your participation…
Watchwords:
Frightened of being seen unfinished
The page asks blood
Abandoning myself again
Silence had begun to wound me
something in me suffers unused
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream:
Leave Something In Me Suffers Unused to:
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