An ancient code
long wove through
Its falling tremor
a veiled melody.
on distant shores.
in old minds
(Like dark soil
by some goading
As heckling crows
the pointed wood.)
Scorning our rules.
(While men pretend
(The poem above is a revision of one written when aged 23.
I find myself too ill for creating new poetry, at present.)
This blog passed 1,000 followers last week. 🎉
That appeared an unattainable total just a few months ago.
I am very grateful for all your support. 🤗
Yet depression (which currently grips me) has triggered a sort of impostor syndrome.
My inner-critic’s voice sneers:
“Ha! Get a book published before calling yourself a “poet”!
And putting old stuff online, means you aren’t even a proper blogger, either!”
(With a psyche like mine, who needs enemies?)
Yes: I do dream about being published, someday.
But have no idea how.
Or where to approach.
And when my symptoms are bad, I often end up feeling overwhelmed.
The energy required for self-promotion seems completely absent.
Does anybody else struggle against impostor syndrome?
Perhaps viewing themselves as a chronic amateur, among experienced bloggers?
Or imagining that others are “natural” writers, in ways one can’t match?
Comments are always VERY welcome!🙏
(Art on the blog is mine: I hope you like it?)
(anxiety / art / blog / blogging / depression / drawing / life / mental health / poem /poems / poetry / reading / thoughts / writing )