Monday, October 29, 2012

To the Naysayer on my shoulder

To you, naysayer on my shoulder,

You don't have my shoulder to shout on, no, not anymore. You can't sit there, so pompous, self-righteous and destructive. I flick you off my shoulder. You can take that bullying and shove it up your celestial ass. I'm not going to listen to you.

Naysayer, you and all of your little friends, are the bitter toxic voice who shouts, “I suck. I'm a failure. I can't finish anything. I'm mediocre.”

I'm not.

I say fuck you.

I'm going to write, and I am a writer. It's what I do, and what I need to do. 
I write because I feel joyful when I do, because I like how it feels to see something new. 
I write because I'll always have a friend to talk to. 
I write because I like the belly of things, I like the gut. I like the muddled, messy, subterranean underworld of thoughts/ideas/feelings/truths. 
Where life and decay collide. 
I write because I feel alive when I do.

Naysayer, I'm not going to make any more promises to you, or anyone else. I make a promise to myself. I promise to make tiny changes. I promise to try, for the somethings that get carried on when we are all gone. I promise to listen and to speak, and to shout and to cry and to be and to write about it all.

The world doesn't owe me anything, and I don't owe anything to the world.

But this is the work that means something to me.

The work of my own subterranean underbelly.

You and your sidekicks, i.e., money, success, perfection, recognition, you can all go and have your own little naysayer party.

I'm working to try. I need some creation, and I need to believe in courage and love, and hope. So I'm going to write. And try to make small changes.

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