Doubts

You begin to feel it

when you pick up the pen.

Upon your mind hung the confessions,

the secrets,

the tales,

the mistakes,

the bests of everything

and the absolute worsts.

Nothing was all bad, you believed.

And not everything had to be.

You knew good existed in the world, and,

although you were only

one

person,

you

knew that

you

had the power to do great things.

You were to some, a magnificence.

To others, a mystery.

But to yourself:

a canvas,

not entirely blank but also

not entirely innocent.

Now, as you say, bad things are inevitable.

Good was inevitable too, because bad couldn’t just simply exist without a foe.

Your greatest foe now

is

yourself.

You continue to stare at the blank page before you,

eager to write a poem

or compose your life

into somewhat different words

while simultaneously desiring to

explore different worlds.

You were ready to make the jump.

You were ready to take the leap of faith.

You knew the risks; you didn’t care about the costs.

So,

why wasn’t there anything on your page?

Ask

yourself.