doubt
typing up the manuscript
one moment it’s
wow!
next minute I hear internal paper crumpling
along with my confidence
is it any good?
does it have any teeth
any heart
any tears?
(I’m decidedly uninterested in brains)
sometimes I feel like
I’m removing my insides
polishing them up
artfully plating them for consumption
then nervously waiting for them
to be sent back to the kitchen
other times I feel
I’m just spinning candy floss
making a big sweet pastel globe
of fluffy nothingness
good on the tongue
but nothing to bite into
nothing to stick to your bones
and keep you going
when you’re out chopping wood
I don’t know
what the world wants
from what I can do
all I can do is trust
keep learning and growing wiser
keep giving what I manage to make
and take pleasure watching
my work leave my hands
not worrying so much
about where it comes to rest
