Is writing worth it? Do my poems matter?
Will publishing another failure make me sadder?
Why put time into something I love if it never becomes a real thing?
I can keep my head in the water above but my body’s still swimming upstream.
The life I have now is already enough. I won’t die if I give up my dreams.
Adding an accolade would only be fluff when I’m already stretched at the seams.
Is it really giving up if I never commit?
Is my self published work way too much to omit?
Do you really climb a mountain if you never summit?
When every day life keeps you down; you submit?
At what point does desire transform into action?
You strive and aspire to grow beyond faction.
You’re looking for a buyer, spread of word, and some traction.
But lighting that fire is all but a fraction.
Passion is rarely all it’ll take
And effort can barely preserve what’s at stake.
You need motivation to keep up the drive.
A little inspiration to keep it alive.
But nobody knows to ask you about You.
Your back burner still is kept hidden from view
Until someone wanders across what you do,
And asks you when they can get something new.
Can you really tell them how it’s all on hold?
How you wish you were driven but you’ve never been bold.
How your last four projects were all but out sold
How you’re feeling your dream is just childish and old?…
Maybe their intrigue was all that you needed?
Your love for your work may not be conceded
Effort and energy may not be depleted
Take one hint of hope and be not defeated.
