The fear of success

Fear is a strong motivator, not the best one, but one that works. It connotes a propellant from behind, an evil to avoid. On the other hand success is an aim, a catalyst for forward movement. At the intersection of fear and success is a stalemate – an unnamed source for  procrastination. I think this is where I have arrived. 
It could be that I’ve negotiated myself out of the regular excuses for ignoring my passion, but I am recognizing this as an avoidance tactic. The thought that my ego, narcissism, and laziness will show up once I have “arrived” makes me not even attempt the journey. Usually, I do not think it is helpful to write about identifying a problem without presenting solutions, but I’m stumped. I’ve seen it happened to me, to other people, and I am afraid to lose myself. Talk about first world problems! I haven’t written here in months, but I’ve been inspired and 
helpful to other writers. That fuel should build steam and extinguish this phobia. Here’s to embracing the future, the inevitable stumbles and progress. 

Do you come across this phenomenon? How do you deal with it?

Burn: April PAD – Day 19


It happens when you’ve been rubbed the wrong way.
It’s simple physics: building friction, harmful diction, sparks may fly.
Tension and confrontation pound with the potential to be abstergents
for your character, if you so chose.
Baptism by fire fissures into a schism where you must decide
who you are: burned and scarred, refined and cleansed, pained or marred.
The flame lacks mercy, discernment, and phlegmatic disposition,
but your burn carries the memory of hurt, healing, and action.
Let it smart till your heart finds the salve it needs.
Let it burn till the flame no longer breathes.

How are you doing with your poem-a-day journey? I have been writing, but offline. Sorry I haven’t kept you all in the loop, but you’re getting to read the best ones.

I write about fire a lot. Do you think this would be a good theme for a collection?

In Case of: April PAD – Day 11

In Case of Heat

This heat between us
curls up, asleep in its turmoil
blowing spits of recycled air
at our toes. This heat manages
a space that should not exist
between the narrow flanks of a single bed,
but yet weighted we boil, stirred by
a breeze conditioned to burrow
and tarnish the hollow ground
on which we totter.
This heat beats our words
in a tongue-race, pushing silence
and miscommunication into our night
time prayers, blanketed with layers of
the unsaid –snug, content, complacent–
it lies here between our backs
as they face each other a bedtime standoff
after a passive disagreement, though we
should not call it that. The heat allows
no combat or fireworks to identify
where there may be bleeding,
but blood is here, sweltering between
our parallel spines as this unbearable heat
conceals our withdrawn weapons in sweaty sheets
and releases murmurs about the morning maintenance.
The heat reveals no fix this malady, no wrench
to lessen this wedge, no ice to calm its destruction.

So much catching up to do!