This is bullshit

this is about how I feel about writing sometimes and not feeling good enough

This is bullshit 

But I don’t know what else to do 

I’m desperate for a spark of inspiration 

Something that will consume me into writing a piece that will put others in awe

Nothing comes

Naturally 

Everything I write is bullshit and irrelevant 

My vocabulary and style is elementary at best 

But I didn’t start this for others 

I have to keep reminding myself of the fact 

No matter the vomit I may write on a page

Or the feelings of inadequate

This is for me 

It had always been about releasing the wonder or the demons inside of me 

Saying the words I so furiously need to say the most 

And then, there's the pain of not finding the way to spill out what’s locked inside 

Building up past overflowing 

There is nothing more frustration, hair-pulling, than not being able to release what you direly wish to

I’m scared, honestly, that all my words

That all I am 

Is bullshit and irrelevant 

And yet, through all that may come to be forgotten 

What I can say is that all of this; this is me

And that is real enough. 

Author's Note

Tell me what you think. Thank you for reading!