Monday, February 25, 2013

the self-critic and the judge

snippets of thoughts, playful words
a hodgepodge of intentions
never meeting hands, feet, and brain
at the same time

a clutter of ideas and hopes
churning and simmering
boil over and become
a burnt offering of tasty intentions

swirls of thoughts
like colors on a palette
that never reach canvas                                              

plans, hopes, ideas
great ideas
waiting for a brush stroke,
yearning to burst forth
into radiant strokes of beauty,
deep shades of passion,
contrasting with darker strokes
of fear, loss, and pain

I can’t. I won’t.
I feel overwhelmed,   
trembling with excitement and hope,
mixed with fear.

What if
I make a mistake,
share an inappropriate thought,
get laughed at,
ridiculed, or criticized?

I must write and paint
words and colors deep within,
waiting to burst forth
from within my soul
onto the canvas before me.

Now, I must decide
whether to share this canvas
with you,
with others,
or keep it for my eyes only.

I must choose
to be or not to be
on the canvas of life
with you
nothing at all
to you.

Precious Linda, c. 2012

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