Feelings of Inferiority

I am surrounded by greatness.

All the time, I am surrounded by greatness.

It is almost as if I skitter about on the grimy ground

beneath the feet of those who walk before me with their heads externally held high

trying to catch whatever little flakes of brilliance fall from their shedding exterior.

I crawl behind, scraping up what they need no longer and make it new,

make it my own.

I feel not much more than a recycler digging through bins

wondering how I allowed myself to get to this place.

I move as a ghost searching silently for characteristics I'd like to emulate--

or what's worse--finding characteristics that I once had

that are now either missing entirely

or trapped under the glacierous surface of what used to be my being.

I hate it.

Back to the beginning I must go.

On my Father's lap must I sit and beg,

"Remind me who I am again?

And please, turn me into something better than that."

Everyone wants to make a difference.

At least, they all say so. . .

It is time to turn "say" into "do."

It is time to turn wishes into actions.

It is time to turn inspiration into art.

I have come to a point at which I must be more comfortable with walking in circles to start

than I would be with standing still

watching the world pass me by

one day at a time

while being eroded by the sands of time.

The first step. . .

. . .has been taken.

Exhausted?

Depleted.

Drained.

Pulverized.

Ripped.

Torn.

Run over by a monster truck.

And then again.

Unstable.

Discouraged.

Beaten to a pulp.

Like a ghost

wandering the halls

looking aimlessly for what he left behind

if anything...

Weary.

so

very

weary.

inspiration

-someone telling you that you're going to go places

-reading and identifying with the writings of another

-finding solace in shared feelings

-realizing progress after a prolonged period of being almost entirely oblivious to it

-intently observing minute details in other people

-being reminded of the fact that even the most revered people are still human, and therefore, their brilliance is also attainable by you (with hard work)

-encouragement that strikes a chord deep within from the least likely of people

-a simple gesture of affection

-a full moon glowing beneath a screen of hazy clouds, like the soul of the sky

Self-Mutilation

Empty box.

Blinking cursor.

Racing thoughts.

"Ooh, that could be good..."

Twenty words tapped out.

Stop... Think...

"Nahh, too _____."

Press and hold "delete."

*sigh*

Repeat.

This is what happens every single time I come here. I still care too much. I still hide within the walls of self-consciousness and timidity. I still find it petrifying to release my thoughts. Never eloquent enough. Never impressive enough. Never mature enough. Never written well enough. Never acceptable.

I get inspired by the words of others, almost to the point of action, and then I am utterly crushed by intimidation.

It hurts. It hurts to try and fail, or to feel inferior even when you know that anything that is done well by another has in some way been developed, nurtured and improved, whether by intention or subconscious habit. That knowledge has rarely been enough for me. Something is keeping me from believing it and I have yet to discover what it is exactly, but I must find it. I've grown tired of being crippled by my own irrational trepidation. I need to be freed. I need to be careless to a certain degree.

Let water flow from the deepening cracks in this prematurely aged stone.