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June 9, 2022
I have been told that my poems are children. If that is the case... what do I call you. You are my first gathering of some of my first children. Maybe if I look at you like a gathering instead of a child, I can just look at you as a moment on the timeline of my life. I don't have to be disappointed in you or worse... disappointed in myself for creating you.
First of all, I want to apologize to you that when I did believe in your message, that I didn't put more effort in sharing you when you with others. It wasn't about you. I was insecure and doubted that I had anything to contribute of worth. I doubted myself, not you. But now, I am glad that I didn't invest the effort in making you more accessible to the world. I have less of you out there now.
I think of authors like Joshua Harris, who's gathering of thoughts, is a lot more wide spread than you. He has a lot more to apologize for than I do.
I keep telling myself that I have no regrets. Do I regret the investment it cost my mother and I to bring you into the world? Maybe, but regretting doesn't change anything. I believed in you and in your message. I just don't now. The words within you are not the words within me, and may not be for the rest of my life. I told my mother... "There is no going back... only going forward."
I can thank you for what you made me, but what does it mean to me now? There is something about you that gave me an identity that I can't let go of. I made myself a poet and a writer, but you made me an author.
You are out there with a voice to some, and I may never be able to change the perception they have of me because of you. So live on and continue to exist like a moment in my past that I learn from and grow from. But cease in your ability to define me. I am not who you are anymore.
I AM NOT "STILL BROKEN"
