Poetry

Pressure (#1221)

I put myself under the gun,
And it stopped being fun,

Fun doesn’t mean it’s not hard,
After all, I’m no eloquent bard,

I gave it all I could muster,
And now it’s lost its luster,

Self-induced pressure to succeed,
Making my hemorrhaging soul bleed,

I can’t snap my fingers and be a pro,
I need to stop and take it slow,

It’s not something I can force,
It’ll have to run its own course,

I feel as if I’m fighting a rising tide,
Of which, I cannot run from or hide,

I need to embrace its pleasure once more,
So that it no longer feels like a chore,

It’s not a job- it’s an art,
I need to go back to the start,

I want the words to again be mine,
I want to again taste the divine,

Any Thoughts?

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