A Poet Without a Muse (Poem 2 - Amerlioration)

All of this reading through previous work has shown me one thing about myself: I can definitely write. I’m still suffering from a lack of inspiration, though. While I’m not particularly feeling bad about myself at the moment, I know that my emotions fleet a lot and that I’m having a tough time remaining positive about everything.

Regardless, I’m hopeful for the future and what it holds. I may not be what I wanted six years ago, but I think all of the flaws I have helped define me. I took such shitty jobs because I never wanted to feel like I was better than anyone else. I drink alcohol so that I’m not constantly acting like I’m smarter than anyone else.

I hate that my personality gives me a feeling of self-righteousness, but I do like that I’m willing to help others. Maybe that help is all for my own ego, but it still gives other people peace….I think I got off topic.

Regardless, since I started a multi-part piece, I suppose I have to finish it. This poem kind of sucks and is incredibly depressing, but I think giving the context will help flesh me out some more.

I wrote this poem around 2004, during the dark time of high school. I’ll spare you more self-pity and describe a moment that actually made me feel quite good. I volunteered at a local library practically everyday during that summer and I eventually got myself a job. While it failed, I’ve definitely become a much better worker because of that stain.

Still, the teen center at the library was holding some open mic readings for aspiring young poets. Being the headstrong fool I was, I volunteered to read this poem to a room full of people. With my hands shaking and legs getting numb, I stumbled up to the podium and read this little monster to everyone.



Alone I feel,

Pressed with fear,

Staring down demons,

Who shudder in my ear,

And all by my lonesome,

Where I can’t fight the beasts,

Do I live eternally,

Without any belief.



Each new day,

Brings another hate,

Directed towards myself,

And inward to my spirit,

Where I fear the future,

And despise the past,

Where I lose my mentality,

And ignore my flak.



How can I find my way out,

Of all this hate,

Where minds are destroyed

And creatures run irate,

Do I require more help,

From the people outside,

Or do I need myself,

To hold onto my pride?



For all the good I do,

That goes unappreciated,

I feel ambivalent,

And self deprecated,

For I never understand,

How I don’t receive thanks,

And I never understand,

How I can’t just ameliorate.



So forget my world,

For it means nothing to me,

Forget my desires,

And forget my dreams,

I can live without life,

And breathe without mean,

I can ignore myself,

And forget my self esteem.



Much to my surprise, the audience didn’t laugh at me or ridicule my work. They clapped. They were happy I was willing to share such a dark and self-loathing piece. They worried about my life and it was pretty strong to have people who never met me actually care.

I’ve forgotten that people care. While I’m constantly at work and never fulfilling any aspirations, I believe that my life has just become too common for me to really spring into action.

That is why I said I am hopeful for the future. By the end of the year, I’m planning on finally moving out of my house and to another state. I want a fresh start on life and really hope that I can discover the real me.

So was the initial goal of this series of blogs achieved? Well….no. I can’t say that re-reading my previous thoughts has inspired me to do anything new. I will say that all of this self-pity has taught me something: other people matter.

As I read through the community blogs on Screwattack and Destructoid, I notice that other aspiring writers are having the same difficulties as I am. They aren’t giving up, though. They are putting out fantastic work that deserves recognition.

I’ve had my time in the spotlight on both sites. I’ve been featured on the front page numerous times and gotten people to realize I exist. I just never thanked them for doing that.

So instead of wallowing in hatred and misery, I’m going to help bring attention to the blogs I like. There is nothing that would bring warmth to my heart more than having other aspiring writers get noticed.

From here on out, until I can come up with something truly unique and creative, I’m going to highlight the blogs that really make me think/laugh/smile/cry/boil with anger. Anything written well or with mind-boggling ideas will get my attention.

Be that attention on Twitter, Facebook or even in these community blogs is of no concern to me. As long as people are reading and I’m allowing others to garner attention, I will feel accomplished.