If you punched me in the face,
you wouldn't beat me up as much
as I beat myself up
for not having the creativity flow out
of my body and into my fingertips
as it usually would.
All this blank space.
No words to write.
No ideas to ponder.
"Start over"
I tell myself.
"Find what you used to find,"
"Go where you want to go with it"
I say.
But I've been so damn concerned
about the edges,
the crust,
the beginnings and endings,
the past and the future
that I forgot where the hell I am.
But
I'm
Right
Here
In
The
Middle
Nothing reminded me more of that
than the match I lit
to light a candle.
All this blank space.
No words to write.
No ideas to ponder.
"Start over"
I tell myself.
"Find what you used to find,"
"Go where you want to go with it"
I say.
But I've been so damn concerned
about the edges,
the crust,
the beginnings and endings,
the past and the future
that I forgot where the hell I am.
But
I'm
Right
Here
In
The
Middle
Nothing reminded me more of that
than the match I lit
to light a candle.
This flame
that is always right here
within me.
It was the trigger
that reminded me to
take inventory.
What's inside?
Above all else,
I am an intricate design,
a big beautiful mess, actually,
of atoms that make up the
planet that I'm spinning on in the
middle
of empty space.
The middle.
The middle of consciousness.
Here I am.
I had to lose myself to find myself.
The very thing that was holding me back
is now helping me out.
If I am the light,
who would I be without the Dark?
And all of this space
in the
middle
that I thought was empty,
is actually just
potential space to be
full.
And there's no better prescription
when you're feeling
without edges, or middles
or knowing where the hell
you begin or end
than a jar of matches
to fuel your potential.
Match your flame to your blank space,
strike a nerve
and
light up.
I dare you.
~L~
