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I decided to do a 21-day-challenge for April, being the National Poetry Month. The links back to the blog I found it on, by the way.

I’ve thought a lot about how I got to this point in my life. It’s thanks to a buddy of mind who posted a certain Dr. Dre song feature Eminem and Skylar Grey. And I’m having trouble admitting that it’s probably time to put things on hold, get a real job and figure some shit out. But part of me wants to run away from those thoughts.

A few years ago, Richard Yañez told me a writer has to put everything else on hold to mold yourself, perfect your voice and your craft. Now I’ve put off so many things and wondering why I’m actually doing all this. There comes a time in everyone’s life when you just gotta choose which path you want to take and I think I’ve at that fork in the road where I gotta choose the life of a responsible adult or continue on this path until I get that option again. I can tell say that I don’t know how much longer I can put it off before I wake up and find all that I worked so hard for not sleeping soundly next to me.

Maybe I’m not a natural writer. Maybe I just fooled myself because I thought the glory of reading my work in print was something to look forward. But how much longer can I just say “fuck it” and continue on dreaming? I have the support and I have the praise, but do I have the gift that turns a word to a phrase to something meaningful that will change the lives of others?

There’s so much I can do. Anything I put my mind to. I’m blessed with a mind that can grasp almost anything. I’m a fast learner. It came to the point when I just had to pretend I’m just an average joe. But the truth is, I’m not. I’m not average in any way. And it’s only a matter of time before every sees how much potential I’ve hidden away. How I just play this role of being “normal.”

I like jobs that leave me tired. I can’t imagine standing in front of a computer screen everyday crunching numbers. Or presenting reports. Sorting things out. I get bored easy. “Smart” white-collar jobs bore me, despite my ability to do them. Despite that I can be easily trained to put on that tie every morning and pretend that I enjoy all that I do. I don’t want a job where things come to me easy. My whole life has been easy. And nothing makes me feel more meaningful than being able to work with my hands. But when I apply for jobs that’ll leave me tired, I’m turned away because they accuse of me being “too smart,” of being “too good” for the job.

I’m a problem solver, but I can’t solve my own problems. I can instruct others how to live their lives, but am completely at a lost on how to live mine. And I’m tired of having to be the one to ask for forgiveness. And I’m tired of the one having to pick up the slack. I’m tired of having to stroke other’s egos. I’m tired of feeling like I’m living for nothing while I have everything I ever wanted and building an empire out of my life.

Just for one second I need to be reminded that I’m not wasting my time. That I have a gift instead of just making it up as I walk along. I just need to hear something other than, “Oh, Willie that’s the best I’ve read so far.”

And I’m tired of playing the smile. I hate having to be happy when I’m not. I’m exhausted myself being pretending to feel more than I do, or having to hide tears behind this mask. I want to feel weak and vulnerable without having someone take advantage of me. I’m tired of crying out with teenage angst that should’ve expired nine years ago. But here I go, rolling the dice. Playing the victim when I’m everybody’s hero.

 

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