Lonely Shift

Not long ago, something shifted within me. The desire to write continually floods my soul, my fingers tingle with need. But…. the words I want to say, they seem to fall on deaf ears. Everything I write is shit. I start, stop, start again. Papers crumpled on the floor. It’s not for lack of trying. The words I want to say, they remain elusive. I desperately attempt to convey my thoughts, my heart, casting about for some sort of connection. Or reason. Or validation. Do I, then, I have to wonder, write for myself or for my readers? Perhaps, sometimes, it’s just for A reader. That special someone. Who may or may not read what I have to say. Probably won’t. Why would he? He knows all that’s in my heart already anyway and the poetry that flows from me is pure, worthless shit. It’s lonely being a writer. But also… it’s a self-imposed loneliness so I really have no room to talk, do I?

©️tara caribou – 2018

You can read more bad poetry and worthless thoughts over at Caribou Crossings.

4 Comments Add yours

  1. bluerooster says:

    That was pretty bad, but I only said that to make you happy!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. tara caribou says:

      Hahaha! Thanks Wayne. I can always count on you.


  2. I think perhaps if we were able to say exactly what we wanted to say, exactly how we wanted to say it, then we might only say it once. And with that, a lot would be lost.

    There’s a yearning in the trying, we get so close but not quite there. But it’s something that is worth everything.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. tara caribou says:

      Yes! What you say… it echoes with Truth. I am listening; I can hear it. This has given me much to think about. Very much indeed. Thank you.

      Liked by 2 people

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