A Self-Estimate
My life has been built around
self-doubt of who I am
with insecurity and vulnerability.
To many that might seem strange
and to others it might seem I have it all.
A lasting marriage,
fulfilling my dreams one at a time,
friends around the world.
You ask what else
could anyone really want.
When I was young
whatever I did
my sister or someone else
could always do it better
even when I succeeded,
at least that is what I was always told.
Those words brought forth
all sorts of insecurities
that plagued my life from those days to this.
They would tell me my writing
was rubbish and I should never show them
to anyone or they would hold me up to ridicule.
Now my writing is read and enjoyed
by thousands across the world.
So why is it that these insecurities
keep swirling around my head?
The questions keep coming,
but the answers elude me.
Even when I look at my accomplishments
those insecurities still follow me around.
Will my bubble burst
and will their words back then be right?
I hope and pray not and I will just carry on
no matter what the outcome is.
My future is sealed
no matter which way I turn.
A writer I will always be,
whether good, bad or indifferent,
or for richer or poorer be.
I gave up once for a number of years,
but fate had it in store
that I would write again once more.
It even lead me down different paths
than I had been down before.
What next I ask myself,
just keep on writing I guess
and the insecurities.
Well, they will still follow me
as well as the self-doubts
I was brainwashed with.
You cannot turn back the clock
say it never happened.
It is just something in my life
I am going to have to live with.
25 May 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Refuse To Say Anything About It
I am 'not' going to say anything,
About 'anyone' and their insecurities.
It is pointless to keep harping upon them,
When those who have them are clearly possessive.
And who am I to mention who is insecure?
You know what I'm saying?
Who gave me the right to perceive,
Those with insecurities feed upon them.
With a seeking of others,
To defend their weaknesses.
And that is one of the reasons,
I refuse to say anything about it.
I'm sure people with insecurities,
Know they've got them.
'Well,
I am glad you didn't bring it up for discussion.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Looking For A Leader
Fear inflicts the acceptance of restrictions.
And those afraid to carve their own independent way,
Facing obstacles and doubts...
Discover for themselves what life for them is about.
But will always feel inadequate,
When attempting to expose their own identity.
And unfortunately many living lives fearing,
Seek to be led.
With a looking for a leader approved by those...
Who only know what it takes to follow.
Since those who do have abilities to lead,
Are often opposed by the ones subjected to insecurities.
And people with those insecurities,
Seek those who are best qualified...
To represent the denying of every one of them.
Because the ones who express honesty and truth,
Always seem to threaten...
Those who do not.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Is Best to Be Cautious
Some folks believe they benefit,
By protecting their insecurities.
As if they are hidden.
And others can not see.
Or know those insecurities,
Have a life of their own.
And have been given the 'authority'
To express themselves!
And publicly breathe.
But when those insecurities,
Begin to plop on another's integrity...
There is no sense to defend them.
Feelings once spared,
Are no longer given a chance.
And egos become wounded.
And those romanced exaggerations,
About life...
Become stung,
By someone who intends to deliver...
A bitter nasty tongue done.
And there is no regret.
It is best to be cautious,
In these situations.
Especially when accusations,
Begin to sprout wings and fly!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Shine
Put on your blindfold
And a dress that's tight
And come with me
On a mystery night
Open your eyes
Follow our stars under a painted sky
We'll leave the world behind
We're learning to fly
We used to get by
Forget the pictures on your TV screen
We'll steal the visions
That you keep for your dreams
You can turn me on
I was blind and I saw the light
My angel coming
In a brilliant white
Shine for me
You've been hanging from a rope of mediocrity
Strung up by your insecurities
You can shine for me
Somebody has to
Shine for me
It's difficult not to
Shine for me
Follow our stars under a painted sky
We'll leave the world behind
We're learning to fly
We used to get by
Forget the pictures on your TV screen
We'll steal the visions
That you keep for your dreams
You can turn me on
You've been hanging from a rope of mediocrity
Strung up by your insecurities
You can shine for me
Somebody has to
Shine for me
It's difficult not to
Shine for me
Somebody has to
Shine for me
It's difficult not to
Shine for me
song performed by by Depeche Mode from Exciter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dear Friend
i always love to write, as early as
gradeschool when we were classmates
while you were playing and chasing and stumbling
i just sat on the grass of the playground under a tree and scribble anything
and read a lot about some stories with lots of pictures
and colors of fairies and kings and queens and butterflies and bees,
i do not stop writing, in fact, writing has become my life
that without words i may die an instant death
i dream that i have written novels and stories and lots of poems
i wake up with some ideas like some seeds that i want to sow
and grow in the field and see them become shrubs and trees and forests
and i keep on this life writing and writing and writing and writing
for writing's sake and i wish i may live longer so i may write
some more, some sequels of my love stories and suspense thrillers
and write finally all the poems that are inside my mind
hanging like ripe grapes and creeping like vines on my fence
as i am writing now as you always want to read me
until such time my friend that i will die, or end my life myself (who knows?)
(i will not talk about it now, it is something bizarre and makes me
shiver, but who knows, well you know, all are but possibilities and nothing
but possibilities in this vast wide world of realities and dreams)
there is something i must say somehow
there is something that i must have forgotten, i have not written about myself
i have always written about them, about you, about the world,
please do not refuse me, stop playing with your life,
gradeschool ended
a long time ago, i have one and ultimate request:
write the story of my life, because it is you who only knows about it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Letter From A Writer Searching For Her Soul And Wanting To Feel Not With Her Hands
Hello (to whom it may concern) ,
It's been awhile since we exchanged messages. Sorry, I'm not much of an |'onliner' these days. I resigned from my job. I'm, in the process of soul searching. Funny but I don't really know why I'm looking for a soul, my soul, when I cannot even see it. I'm on an unplanned vacation in some quaint town some miles outside the city while writing this email.
I guess I never had the chance to tell you how you took the glint from my eye. To write from the soul and not for the awards. I have overlook that writing is an Art. Thus it is priceless. A gold medal does not define you as an artist. Write until it ceases to become a craft.But more than just stringing words after words, conscious of your weary grammar, punctuations, right words, and subject matter. To write is to turn your heart inside out.
Beyond 'writing' and its technical definitions, it is actually a journey - a self surrender - towards the oblivion you are willing to traverse with your pen. And you find yourself in another state.
To write is to 'see' but not with your eyes. To 'feel' but not with your hands. And at the end of it all, you know that it's there. Writing takes over you. Thus, I often wonder: am i writing with the pen? Or is it the pen using me to write? But I know somewhere deep inside, there is a thing mightier than the pen that prompts me to write. And that is the soul.
I want to find my center. My creative process in writing. Ironic, but to find it, I must loose myself.
hahahahaha. whew. I know i sound stupid. Sorry. Thanks for bearing with me. Hope it's not too late to greet you a Happy New Year! ! ! ! =)
Always,
(name witheld, but this could be you)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Convoy of Doubt
Have I sealed my fate?
As I write these words
a wretched burden
overlooks the page.
Have I sealed my fate?
I'm almost wary to
write another word.
Or is it too late?
Have I sealed my fate?
Every word I write
seems to come true,
brought to life in some way.
Have I sealed my fate?
I think I should stop
writing anything,
lest it be profane.
poem by Shalyn Stachmus
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In Slow Accepting Doses
If I wanted to fuzzy you with cuddly,
That approach would be for you...
Not out of the ordinary.
That is what you seek to protect your beliefs.
But it is your delusions,
That squeeze life from you.
As if to aid in your addiction to be deceive.
In slow accepting doses.
And me?
I will never deceive you.
Is that the reason why when I am around,
You begin to cringe?
Perceiving me to be a demon.
Look around you.
You are the one fighting them out of my sight.
However...
There is something about their approach,
That feeds your appetite.
Am I right?
And I am just a reminder of your insecurities.
No matter how long you try...
You can not blame your insecurities on me.
I am not a fuzzy cuddler.
And 'that' I will acknowledge.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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On Levels Already Delusioned
Interpretating what life should be,
On levels already delusioned...
By those doing their best to enforce their standards,
Upon the mindset of every living human being...
Begets only pain and sorrow,
To those who have created their existence...
For others to follow to eventually discover themselves,
Plagued by insecurities and self destruction.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Writing To
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Writing every emotion..
With such a white background.
It makes no sound
Even as the keys I pound.
Let my words have bite
Let from my words drip out meanings beyond meanings
Its something I try to be constantly be achieving.
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
I want every heart and mind
Sucked in cause this is my world stage
No sense of the time.
Never to turn the page
Stuck in to a world oh so oh so fine
Writing to feel
Writing to heal
Writing to steal
Listen to her melody, as she sings.
Let chaos reign down from the skies
What will this day really bring?
Will the letter say good bye?
Will it mend everything?
Making everything better.
Destroying all the consequences
That exist in your world.
Welcome to the place I visit daily.
Inspirational maddness,
It attacks, attacks, and attacks.
With perfect sadness
I must let go once more.
And then the words hit the floor
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
Becoming one with my soul.
Fighting for its one and only control.
Its mine, Its mine. Its mine.
In this reality it subsequently is not
A constant questioning of what?
Writing to feel
Writing to heal.
Writing to steal.
With every sound, taste, and light.
The worlds get get oh so oh so bright
Understand that which is not so forthright
This is my night, and day.
So come on join me, please this way.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Something
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet melody,
A rhythm that can be felt,
A beauty that can be read.
With words flowing like water over rocks,
Steadily without fault or obstruction.
A liquid in its purest state.
I'm writing in hope for something with sweet remembrance,
Like the scent of falling rain,
Or the memorable sound of a mothers cooing voice.
Something so memorable,
The slightest reminder sends you back to the exact moment,
Replaying in unbroken pattern of mind.
I'm writing in hope for something spectacular to happen,
For my words to form a feeling so deep they hurt,
For each image to be as clear as these words on this paper.
I want you to feel what I feel,
A feeling of lonely discontent,
Sitting alone in my own my own world, writing away.
I am writing this in hope for something to stick with you,
A message or a meaning that I've hidden inside a syllable,
A voice of reason that you have kept from yourself,
Silenced with the voice of your shallow desires.
A dream that you once had forgotten,
Lost in the darkness of the night.
I am writing this in hope for something to be brought to light.
Maybe a buried thought that you wish you never had,
Or an inner conflict that you hadn't noticed but feel tearing apart your skin,
Even an aspiration you promised to live up to but left to die.
Something so lost in the world of your mind,
Swallowed by deep chasms of thought and memory.
I am writing this in hope of telling a story.
The story of a world that can only be imagined in a dark room,
Hidden from the world and apart from anything else.
The story of a broken heart of a shortened life,
The story of the silent cries of a lost soul reaching for sanity.
My own story, perhaps, or even yours, is this your story?
I am writing in hope of making your thoughts and feelings dance,
A slow and steady music in the background,
Propelling your eyes left to right and back again.
Following the steps of each word,
The flow off each line and stanza.
An endless waltz with the reader and the writer, will you dance with me?
I am writing in hope of making an impression on your mind,
Maybe not an everlasting one, but even just a brief moment,
A moment of realization that you are now reading what I have written,
That for one moment in time our minds share the same space and thought,
Each word playing in our head the same as the other's.
Can you hear my voice, can you feel my thoughts?
I don't know why I am writing, or why I am writing what I am writing,
But I know that it has accomplished one thing,
It has given a purpose to something, if even just a piece of paper,
It has given worth to something that at one point was just a blank sheet,
Waiting for something to be etched into its surface, making it something.
I guess that's why I'm writing, I'm just writing; something.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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First Kiss That Could Have Been A Big Regret
I am sorry that we can't be.
This is not about you, this about me.
My inner insecurities has mad me realize
that there was no hope to define.
I turned life into a pathetic dream,
a dream that could never be.
I don't know why I tried
when I knew that nothing would be alright.
All I did was hurt myself, when I knew that you
were not worth all the heartache or the time.
I might have been the one
but I guess we will never know.
You never let me show you
what you meant to me
but now it doesn't matter
and I am sorry that you could not see.
I wanted to give you my first kiss
but I am glad that I didn't
because I don't
deserve that kind of regret.
God loves me and that's all that counts!
I don't need you to bring me pain and doubt!
poem by Garnett Angel Loving Soul
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The Lure Of Writing
The lure of writing
is not an easy one to break
once it has you in its grip.
It won’t let you go,
make no mistake.
You can struggle all you want,
but you can never win.
You can turn your back on it
saying I will never write again,
but you will.
The lure of writing
is not and easy one to break,
it will seduce you with dreams
and no matter how many times
they are crushed
the lure of writing
will draw you back again
and again and again.
25 April 2009
poem by David Harris
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It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Wasted Words Of All The Years
THE WASTED WORDS OF ALL THE YEARS
The wasted words of all the years-
The time given to them-
A lifetime given to words
Never to be read.
Yet how I lived in those years.
And what hope I had in those words
And how I told my dreams in them
And how I tried to help those I loved.
No one needs the words
And no one wants them
But perhaps the life itself
In writing them
That too counts.
All the years of the words and the dreams and the hopes and the love of those I loved and the striving for greatness not to be.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Writing The Words
I’m writing this at your funeral.
As I watch all the people in tears.
I wish I could join them,
But I know I have to be strong.
I’m writing this on my hand,
No paper to get it down on.
I want to remember your funeral,
So I’m writing this to honour you.
I’m writing the thoughts that pop into my head,
Making sure they are only the best.
I have to remember,
Because I couldn’t live with myself if I ever forgot.
I’m writing this at your funeral,
As people dropp flowers onto your coffin.
I stand up to dropp my own,
Blue, unlike the others, because I know it’s your favourite.
I’m writing this through the ceremony,
Because if I listen to the words I’ll cry.
And I know I can’t, for you,
I have to keep it together.
I’m writing the words I want to say,
To make people remember how much love you gave.
Because I want them to know,
How much of it you gave to me.
So, I’m writing this at your funeral,
To stop myself from shedding a tear.
I’m writing this at your funeral,
So that I never ever forget you.
poem by Rachel Brewer
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Writing On The Wall
Words and music by rick nielsen
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
Lo and behold, heard it on the radio.
It was a long time comin, but it sounds so sweet, come on, man, get off my back.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
In the midwest and in the east.
Canada, southwest, around the world,
L.a., tokyo, sounds so sweet,
Come on honey, get on your feet.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
The words were oh, so...
The words were oh, so clear.
All right, I saw the writing on the wall.
All night, I saw the writing on the wall,
I saw the writing on the wall.
Lo and behold, heard it on the radio.
It was a long time comin, but it sounds so sweet, come on, man, get off my back.
Saw it at the airport, it was on t.v.
Read it in a magazine, runnin down the street.
Makes no sense, but I hope its gonna last,
The next big thing, I really gotta laugh.
Worked and slaved and played like hell,
Everybodys goin crazy, youre the last to know.
Cant explain it, still a joke to me,
Maybe Im naive, cause its so plain to see.
Its right in front of your face, man.
Its right in front of your face, man.
Played like hell, whoa!
Played like hell, whoa!
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Not Your Enabler
I am not existing,
In pretense...
Your insecurities,
I will dismiss.
Nor will I come to understand,
With an acceptance to defend...
At my expense,
It is okay when you display...
Your way of living your life,
Does not get in my way!
I am not existing,
In pretense...
Your insecurities,
I will dismiss.
I am your friend!
Not your enabler to use and offend!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Fake People
All the time
I look in your eyes
But what I see
And what you say to me
Are two totally different things
You pretend you put on a façade
I only wish you knew that I'm not
The only one who sees it as odd
Fake people
The things they do are oh so evil
Because of their own insecurities
They try to pass on to you their idiosyncrasies
Thinking they are your friends you let them into your lives
But then they turn around and about you tell nothing but lies
Jealousy is such an ugly thing
Almost as ugly as hypocrisy
Fake people
The things they do are oh so evil
Fake people
Fake people
So now I must ask who are your friends
Are they really what they seem to be
Or are they just trying to hide from you their envy
Do your friends really have your back
Or is it that that's where by them you've been stabbed
I once had a friend
One I thought would be there for me till the end
Then one day my happiness ended and theirs began
And when I needed someone to lean on
Behind me did no one stand
Fake people
The things they do are oh so evil
Because of their own insecurities
They try to pass on to you their idiosyncrasies
Thinking they are your friends you let them into your lives
But then they turn around and about you tell nothing but lies
Jealousy is such an ugly thing
Almost as ugly as hypocrisy
Fake people
The things they do are oh so evil
Fake people
Fake people
Be careful who you let know your business
'Cause in the end
Rumors about you they could be spreadin'
Don't put your trust in people who don't trust you
There's no telling what they're liable to say or do
Grow smarter with each experience
And you'll see true friends
Are the friends who are their with and for you till the end
Fake people
The things they do are oh so evil
Because of their own insecurities
They try to pass on to you their idiosyncrasies
Thinking they are your friends you let them into your lives
But then they turn around and about you tell nothing but lies
Jealousy is such an ugly thing
Almost as ugly as hypocrisy
Fake people
The things they do are oh so evil
Fake people
Fake people
(1998)
poem by Dionne K. Kelly
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Keep On Writing Baby
keep on writing baby
just keep on writing
feel the urge inside your heart
let it out
let it go and follow it where it may lead you
don't just dream baby
early this morning do not just dream
write that dream and see what it promises you
write it in stone
and when this dream comes back to you
ask it if it is true
show the stone
can it deny you the truth of what you write
in that stone?
hear the words: 'your wish my dear is granted! '
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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