WHAT HOLDS ME BACK?

LIVING IN FEAR

I put up a brave façade, but on the inside I’m a coward. I am confident in many things, but not those that matter most. My confidence centers primarily on superficial matters.

I am, & have always been, comfortable with my appearance. I joke that I am “100% genuine, all original parts,” & for the most part that is true. I can admit I am a high maintenance girl. I love to put on makeup & dress up to go out. Yet, I am comfortable enough with my natural self that I walk around daily with my hair in a bun, no makeup on, rocking a t-shirt. Point being, I have no issue with my appearance & I have never contemplated plastic surgery or otherwise redesigning my body. I do love to decorate it though with tattoos & piercings, however, I do not consider this a true body transformation.

I am also brave when it comes to activities I do for fun. I am borderline daredevil material. I have tried everything from skydiving to scuba diving, riding every rollercoaster I encounter, traveling abroad alone, riding horses, & so on. I crave adrenaline rushes! I am all about trying new & exciting things.

This is all fine & great, but there is still something holding me back. Based on the previous information, most wouldn’t peg me as a scaredy cat, but that is exactly what I am; a person who lives in fear.

I am afraid I will fail in my future endeavors. I have toyed with copious ideas over the years regarding what career path I should choose for my life & I never seem to find peace. Everything I consider feels like a cop out for not writing. I have dreamed of making a living off my writing for years. Working on my own schedule from my computer in whatever remote location I so desire. Yet, I have always been terrified of putting myself out there. With many jobs the focus is not centered on you, it is about the work you do. Doctors get praise for saving lives, construction workers for building things, architects for designing, secretaries for assisting, etc. Most careers exist to make people’s lives easier in some way shape or form. They provide some service or produce a tangible object of some sort. Writing isn’t like that.

Writing differs from a typical job because it is an art form. Any artist, regardless if they are in the performing arts, studio artistry, or creative writing, understands what it means to put themselves out there & be exposed to high volumes of criticism. Whether you have 5 followers, 5 thousand, or 5 million, your fans & haters are watching what you do. Sure there are people who will love what you do & be supportive, but “haters gone hate.” No matter how many fans you gain, there will always be people that try to tear you down. The fact of the matter is it’s easier to pull someone off a table than it is to pull someone up on it. Especially if the foundation of that table is unsteady. I am the person standing on the table & my ego is the shaky foundation. It is already extremely fragile & unstable. The simplest remark can topple me off that table. People say, “You shouldn’t care; other people’s opinions shouldn’t matter to you,” & while that may be true, to be honest those words aren’t very realistic to me. No matter how hard I try to release my insecurities, I can’t. I’m scared to put my writing out there because I feel like people’s opinion of my writing is a direct judgement on me as a person. Particularly since the vast majority of my writing is extremely personal. I know this fear is irrational to many people, but it is crippling to me. Everyone is tortured by the fear of something & this is what affects me most. This & clowns, which are the demons that crawled out of the drain holes to hell.

So what are your thoughts? Share with me your fears & how you deal with them. I am open to advice, so shoot me a comment or email (visit my contact page) with your suggestions on how to let go of this terror that is strangling me, preventing me from pursuing my dreams. Share your recommendations on this subject & let’s help eachother out!

PS I hope to gain the courage to start posting some of my better, albeit more personal writing to my site soon so stay vigilant! 🙂

For my Niece/Nephew

As I stare into your eyes
Before they have decided what color to be
You’re tiny & innocent
While you’re gazing up at me

I cannot wait
To watch you grow
So as time passes
I’ll beg it to slow

Before words you speak
I’ll kiss you on the cheek
Your tiny hand holding mine
The feeling is so divine

I love you now
I’ll hold you forever
You’ll wonder how
I’ll let go of you never

You can’t hold up your head
All you do is lay in bed
Counting sheep is not a thing
But you sure love toys that sing

Your room is full of giraffes
Unawares, you do arts & crafts
Fingers & toes covered in paint
To make gifts for us to claim

You’ll never grow old
You’ll always be younger than me
So you will always be told
How much you mean to me

Your skin like crushed velvet
Your hair fine peach fuzz
& when you need something
You make a big fuss

Swaddled in cashmere
With a cap to keep you warm
When you cry like a kitten
All the adults start to swarm

Live life to it’s fullest
Don’t die old & boring
Be the best you can be
Like an Eagle keep soaring

One boy & one girl
One silver, one gold
Take care of each other
Don’t try to fit the mould

Be kind, openhearted
Don’t judge like the rest
Befriend everyone
& put love to the test

Be patient, be caring
Be strong, & be good
Be obedient & sharing
Like you wish others would

Kisses & cuddles
& hugs everyday
No matter from where
Love always, ~AK

Playing with Perspective :)

So yesterday I decided to try something different that I haven’t done in years. I wrote from a friend’s Point of View. I took what I know about his situation & put his thoughts into my own words. He shall remain anonymous, but here is the result:

 

4.5 years down the drain

Was it wasted or was it just insane?

People can pry, but they’ll never know why

It was my own decision to fly

 

We met at night

Lived in the dark, not the light

But we grew apart

& now I get a fresh start

 

I may not know how

But I’ll find my own way

& I’m not gonna listen

To what others have to say

 

It’s not their job

To decide my fate

I’m a grown man

& that’s something I hate

 

I make my own tracks

& I spin ’em in the club

I drop hints for the girl

That I low key love

 

Smoke ’til no one

Can see my green eyes

So when she saw them

She was so surprised

 

Stay up every night

To watch the sun rise

& socialize with strangers

I don’t even recognize

Memaw

I gave my mother a copy of the adoption poem I wrote & my Memaw asked for one as well. But, I decided to write her something more personal instead 🙂

Memaws are smart

Memaws are kind

Memaws are fun

I’m so glad I have mine

 

Memaws make vegetable soup

They fill it with okra

They relax at home

& watch shows like Oprah

 

Memaws make homemade fudge

& mix pecans in half

But they leave half plain

Because I don’t like that riffraff

 

They take care of puppies,

Bunnies & doves alike

They help raise baby animals

And ride skinny wheeled bikes

 

Memaws keep secrets

They keep mothers in line

They take lemons in their water

They grow citrus, but not limes

 

Memaws go with Papaws

Who pretends he’s Moss Back

He scares kids in the pool

When the sky outside is black

 

Memaws are moms extended

They make kids follow rules

But, they feed us cookie dough

& that is pretty splendid

 

Memaws lay on rafts

So they don’t get their hair wet

But kids flip them over

& they get a whoopin’ threat

 

Memaws don’t judge so much

They often take your side

But sometimes they disagree

& they do so with pride

 

Memaws are loving creatures

They go slow & take their time

They love coffee & naptime

& are teaching all the time

World Adoption Day 11-15-16

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Happy #WorldAdoptionDay to anyone who has been blessed by this beautiful gift 😇 #WetHairDontCareClub

World Adoption Day 11-15-16
Adoption brought me family
Without it I’d be alone
Adoption brought me a sister
& together we have grown

It gave me someone to fight with
It gave me someone to love
It gave me someone to confide in
Though she doesn’t always keep her mouth shut

As a child I let her dress me
She’s always had great style
But many times she’d test me
& I’d stay mad a while

She taught me many things
Like how to tell designer from a fake
Yet in many ways we’re different
For example, she does not like cake

We got our puppies together
One Christmas in New York
Another way we’re different
Is I do not eat pork

Adoption made us siblings
Though we are not blood
But we learned to love each other
Until one day we became buds

We lost our home in Katrina
& that brought us close again
Our parents made us sisters
But our love made us friends

She loves to shop indoors
While I love to play outside
As children we fought over chores
As adults we travel worldwide

We’ve travelled the world together
From Costa Rica to Europe
Canada to the Caribbean
& she always did my makeup

The day that she got married
I stood right by her side
I helped her to get ready
She made a beautiful bride

Adoption is a blessing
It is a gift from God
A miracle from up above
& one we should applaud

Laugh

So I wanted to spotlight one of my object writings from a couple weeks ago. I feel like it was somewhat overshadowed the first time I posted it as it was at the end of a long post. I was given 10min to write about “Laugh” & this is what I came up with it. I quite enjoyed this one & I hope you will too!

Contagious. Happy, a smile on everyone’s face. A frown turned upside down. A fantastic ab workout. Laughter makes the world go round. Like music, it is a universal language. Even more so, because every country laughs the same. People, however, don’t. Each laugh as unique as the individual itself. No two alike, even twins it sets apart. Laughter heals the soul. It stitches it back together again. It mends emotional wounds. Laughing a jokes till you roll on the ground in tears. Intimate moments you share with one glance at your best friend. Forced chuckles at you’re bosses lame comments to stay in his good graces. Laughing is healthy! It produces endorphins. The opposite of strife. Bringing people together. Unifying through a common interest. Laughing can be mean though. Laughing at a persons’ insecurities, weakness, or failures will never be okay! Laugh with, not at. Laughing tastes like sunshine & rainbows. It smells of burning leaves, fresh baked cookies. It sounds like a rainstorm with thunder and lightening. Even dogs laugh with their tails. Laughing is for all ages, it keeps you young! It tenses up then relaxes the muscles. Laugh til you cry, until the day that you die. It pays to be happy. You are more content when you can learn to laugh at yourself.

1st Day of Object Writing

So I started a new writing class & the first thing we are doing is object writing. I had to write on “Feather” for 5 minutes “Roses” & “Wrench” for 10 minutes each, & “Balloon” for 90 seconds. This is what I came up with:

 

Feather. Light & fluffy. Soft & sweet. I hear the bird chirping tweet tweet tweet. Does the bird know it’s lost it’s feather? The feather takes flight drawing with it the animal it is attached to. The feather, gray, & cold. Dead it is. The feather curved and smooth like the edge of the earth. The horizon it flies towards. Floating in the air. Lifeless, but yet alive in so many ways. Found on the ground lying alone. Drying from it’s separation. Separating. Losing itself
Roses. Colorful. All in a row. From a bush they grow. Yellow, Red, pink, white. Even the black one in plain sight. But what do they mean, these colors? They smell so fresh. I’d like to pick one. Place it behind my ear to hold back my hair. Pretty they grow alive and untouched. But if touched they die, turning brown. Shriveling up. Drying out. No longer a part of the circle of life. Thorns so prickly I am scared to touch them. I fear the pain & I don’t want to bleed. But when cut right, beheld with beauty. They hold life inside. Not just the plant. Tiny bugs they crawl inside this magnificent bud they probably conceive as the world. Earth as it is alive also. A tiny bud in this vast universe. Soon it will die because touched it has been, by grimy hands. Picked clean of the last living things. The rose colors are the different planets the bush the Milky Way. Does the rose know it will die? Do plants feel life? Do they see the future? A marvelous home for small critters to rome.

A wrench in my toolbox. Hard made of metal. Lifeless yet strong. Stronger than my bones, which are fragile, they break. The metal feels cold and stiff, clearly not a living thing. No feelings. Just atoms strung together. Covalent bonds formed. Take life it can in it’s firm grasp. Wrapped hands around a bolt. Twisting turning, pulling things tighter, or taking them apart. Rusty and jagged or fresh & smooth. Covered in oil in the master mechanics hands. Useless in mine. Creations it makes. Or destroy things it might. Silver not gold, new is better than old. Thud it makes as it clanks to the ground. Landing on toes. Smashing them into the ground, ouch! Dangerous to the child in whose hands it fits not. Crushing objects. Useful it is, when handled by the right person. I see my reflection in it’s handle. it turns

Balloon, red with a long string attached. It flies so high so light & free. I wish it could take me. Soaring into the sky. Higher than birds, like a plane. I hear the pop as it gets too close to the sun like Icarus. Pieces float softly to the ground. Red dead.