Growth

I am sitting at the bottom of it all. The acid from the belly of the beast is crashing over me. Flesh slipping off bones, like gushing water down a 20 ft slide. I hold on to my smile to show the world I am enjoying the suffering. This year on Vocal I don't want to gloss over the tough shit.

It's a new year. And I just want to feel something that I haven't before. I need to be compelled. Swept up in a whirlpool of emotions and spew them at the world, instead of collapsing under them. This year on Vocal I want to do the challenges that don't come easy to me and publish work outside of the perimeters of a challenge.

30 is circling me. I am not who I thought I'd be. I am not where I want to be in this remedial-advanced course called life. I want to know what I want. What this version of myself wants. Not what the 13 year old dreamed of or the desires of the 18 year old. I think the 24 year old was on to something but the 26 year old fumbled the ball. I am detached from and clinging to them all in the same breath. This year on Vocal I want to have an intervention with them all, to connect my stages of self.

I start a sentence and it feels true, authentic, sincere. All the intricate, crucial things a writer has to convey. I blink, and the sentiment doesn't ring the same honesty bell. I can't finish the thought. Too unsure of myself to relay a consistent, coherent feeling. This year on Vocal I want to take the angle that felt right at first and write that piece. Then write to the other variants of the truth that arose.

My favorite writers unveil the ugliness of themselves as royally as they peel back their beauty. I dodge mistakes I've made, tip toe around my shame over my shortcomings. I burrow myself into a 100 ft well to avoid the scary thoughts and fail to acknowledge all the love in my life. Those nights where I drank too much and details have been filled in the next day, by those who bore witness. Not identifying my accomplishments as the milestone achievements I believe I should have had. Forgetting the love that gives me the will to wash my ass and go outside to be under the sun. Hiding from the fear that that love won't hold the same weight one day. This year on Vocal I want to be as thunderous, raw, and dynamic as my favorite writers.

When I first read this challenge I thought...this year on Vocal I want to win a challenge. Then I thought it would be funny to start the piece repeating that sentence at least 3 times. The piece deterred from my initial reaction to the prompt but a win is still a hope I have for myself. It would boost my pride in my work. As superficial as that is, it's what winning does. Winning is so far removed from my concept of my realm of possibility though. Also I live in NYC and money doesn't like staying in my bank account. So, this year on Vocal I want to win a challenge... or two... or three.

At word 290 I had an epiphany. My mind will never be concise. I just hope that the confusion in my head is received as purposeful and intentional. That my words affect people, filter their thoughts, and cause heartbeats to quicken. This year on Vocal I want to feel confidence that my writing means something to someone.

Over the past month and a half, I have been thinking about participating in a Moth StorySLAM. I've googled writer's retreats and started researching how to go about publishing a book. Being a Vocal member for 3 years has given me the confidence to call myself a poet/writer.

The barest, skeletal form of myself makes it to the surface of the beast. I rest my arms on the edge.