I have been talking on and on, long after the real thing had already been said,
I have been talking as if sharing my burdens with people who weren’t even asking would somehow lighten the load I’m feeling,
I have kept talking and somewhere in the middle of all that noise, I lost the purer and more honest version of what I actually meant to say,
I have kept talking, do I reach for more words because I trust them or because I am afraid that the silence will make me look empty and boring,
I have kept talking when what I really needed was to stop and let the truth breathe by itself without my constant interference, and without even trying to pause and breathe...
I’ve poured my heart and soul into this room, not because anyone asked for it, and certainly not because anyone needed it,
I’ve poured my heart and soul into this room, and called it diligence when the more honest name for it was noise dressed in the costume of too hard a work,
I’ve poured my heart and soul into this room, so completely and so often that there was no space left for the thing that actually mattered to land and just be felt,
I’ve poured my heart and soul into this room, when did doing more become the way I convince myself that I deserve to be here rather than just presently being here,
I’ve poured my heart and soul into this room, until even I could no longer find the door I came in through to begin with, I just wanted to start all over again when even thinking...
I have dressed the same ordinary idea in better clothes and presented it as something new,
I have dressed my insecurity in volume and my avoidance in productivity and my fear of being wrong in a longer answer that no one will remember every word of it,
I have dressed the work in so many layers of explanation that the original thought at the center of all of it quietly gave up and left me hanging,
Is the dressing I keep adding actually safeguarding the idea, or is it merely shielding me from the realization of its inherent simplicity, too simple you’re afraid it can be ordinary,
I have dressed everything so carefully and for so long that I have almost forgotten what any of it looked like before I started covering it all up...
I have forgotten that less is not the same as giving up or arriving unprepared,
I have forgotten that restraint can be the most disciplined and honest thing I can do in a room full of people who believe more is always better beyond what’s inside,
I have forgotten that the lines I chose not to write were sometimes the most important lines in the whole piece of my poem,
What would I actually say if I trusted that one clear honest sentence was enough to hold the weight of what I real mean to say,
I have forgotten that the most powerful thing in the room is sometimes the one that does not compete for attention, because what is real rarely has to announce itself…
Watchwords:
I kept talking past the moment it was done
Noise dressed in the costume of hard work,
The idea at the center quietly gave up,
The dressing covered what was always simple,
Nothing left to prove by speaking out loud...
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream:
