It is not my intention 
To make you think I am miserable 
I am merely tender
Because I am a little sad
I feel untethered
I am a little angry
With all of us
And honestly 
I am quite tired
Of myself
And that is why 
I can say
I am everything 

I also 
Do not wish to convey
I am feeling 
Light spirited
Or apathetic 
The last thing I want 
Is to appear insensitive 
But I have to keep somewhat busy
Or the ants in my brain
Turn to termites
And then I’m gone

Just like this morning 
There was no rush
To make coffee
And start my day
So I laid there awhile
Wondering if I could go back to sleep
After only five hours 
One would hope so
But when I started to curl like a snail
And my eyes began to well
I flung back my quilt
And shook my head
I will not allow
Sadness to overtake me

Life is for living
I can embrace another day
Even if it does pale 
To ones before
Even if it isn’t filled
With what I would choose
If I had all my druthers

I have not
Went off my feed
I have not 
Lived breath to breath
This time
And I thank God for that
May I never drown 
In emotions
Ever 
Again

I have elaborated on this before, but this was in my memories today and I felt led to share.

so you want to be a writer? by Charles Bukowski

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it for money or
fame,
don’t do it.
if you’re doing it because you want
women in your bed,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit there and
rewrite it again and again,
don’t do it.
if it’s hard work just thinking about doing it,
don’t do it.
if you’re trying to write like somebody
else,
forget about it.

if you have to wait for it to roar out of
you,
then wait patiently.
if it never does roar out of you,
do something else.
if you first have to read it to your wife
or your girlfriend or your boyfriend
or your parents or to anybody at all,
you’re not ready.

don’t be like so many writers,
don’t be like so many thousands of
people who call themselves writers,
don’t be dull and boring and
pretentious, don’t be consumed with self-
love.
the libraries of the world have
yawned themselves to
sleep
over your kind.
don’t add to that.
don’t do it.
unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don’t do it.

When it is truly time,
and if you have been chosen,
it will do it by
itself and it will keep on doing it
until you die or it dies in
you.

there is no other way.

and there never was.

***I copied this just as it appears out of my Bukowski book. This speaks to me. I know my posts are long & probably uninteresting to some, but I honestly can’t shorten them. I have a story to tell and there is no cropping it. (Posted on my Facebook April 21st, 2015)