Poem: Without Pressure – 26/12/20

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There is no longer any pressure,
self-produced,
to create nor feel,
no rushing to the chopping block
where I must reveal my innards,
to show something real.

Instead, I can gently rest,
not be concerned with
the haste, my imposed rush,
because it is time to take
some time out for myself,
I’ve been tired
and don’t I know it.

Constantly dragging things,
items up from me
is like fishing in the darkness,
I know what’s there,
there are secrets lurking
but I don’t know entirely
where, when, or what I will find.

The funny thing is this is
not even required of me –
I’m the one pushing,
to delve, so much so, that
the word ‘I’ is irritating even me.

Changes could be made
but I’m stuck,
hindered by this not so fail-safe practice,
it’s not tried and true,
and it’s tiring, true?
I need to step back and
alter my practice.

Of course, confessionals
have their place,
I acknowledge a share
has great potency,
but not on and on and on
and on and on,
even I sometimes want
to leave.

So, I’ll torment no further,
or at least I will try,
to avoid ailing with my pen,
words stabbing in ears and eyes,
and relax,
step back,
and just take a breath,

sometimes life is actually light-hearted,
had I not thought about sharing and presenting that?

(Early July 2020)

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