Written Words

I want to write words to inspire,
Words to set the hearts a blaze.
To set a soul on fire.
My soul.

But I can't.

My words feel meek.
Stuck.
Stagnant.
Like my steps.

I don't know where I'm going.
One step, two step,
And three back.
I feel lost again.

I don't know where to dump
Empty words onto,
But these blank pages,
Unread.

I feel small.
Unseen.
So I keep hidden.
Hiding behind these masks.

One is for the athlete.
Perfect form.
Sweaty brow.
Straining muscles.
Shortening breath.

One is for the fear,
Of the world,
A mask of many forms,
Hiding in the darkness,
Of my room,
Closed eyes.
Asleep.

One is for depression,
Heavy.
Heart.
Hiding.
Heart.

Too many masks to count,
And I'm a counter,
Of numbers.

I feel burdened by my choices,
In moments of overwhelm,
And stress,
I choose the path,
Of least resistance.
To hide,
And numb.

An addict to non-feeling.
An addict to a drug,
Of many forms.

If I don't try,
How can I fail?
That is the question,
With only one answer.
Regret.

Regret over choices,
Avoided.
Responsibility,
Not taken.

Today,
I am standing,
But heaviness weighs,
Deep in my bones.

The stories I've told myself,
Don't hurt so badly.
Maybe I'm numb,
Maybe I'm de-sensitizing,
To the painful words and judgments,
In my head.

Experiences re-play,
Moments not taken,
Relationships forsaken.
My path is winding,
And binding.

I want to write for me,
Again.
Back when it all began.
Not when words were
Written with pressure,
Or strain.

So, I'm writing,
Hopeful that these words,
Will lessen the pain,
That creeps into my head,
And out my heart.

I'm writing to feel,
To re-member,
In my bones,
The truth beneath the masks,
The joy beneath,
The darkness.
The light within my reach.

In this breath.
I breath to remember.
I'm doing the best I can.