There is a fragment I picked up without knowing yet what it wanted to become, a half sentence, a stray color, a shape that caught me before I understood why,
There is a fragment I picked up without knowing yet what it wanted to become, and I almost set it back down because it didn't announce its purpose the moment I touched it,
There is a fragment I picked up without knowing yet what it wanted to become, so I carried on with my day anyway, unsure if I was keeping a treasure or just collecting more clutter,
Do I actually trust myself to know what's worth keeping before it has proven anything, that explaining myself is even harder as I imagined,
There is a fragment I picked up without knowing yet what it wanted to become, and I am learning to hold it loosely enough that it still has room to surprise me, more than I could imagine…
I keep measuring the raw thing before I have even finished gathering it, handing out verdicts to ideas that are still only half formed and barely out of the dark, but I remember I am going somewhere,
I keep measuring the raw thing before I have even finished gathering it, as though every rough draft owes me proof of its future the moment it arrives, that it deserves a place even yet it’s purpose is just a seed,
I keep measuring the raw thing before I have even finished gathering it, and I wonder how many quiet possibilities I have already thrown away for failing a test they were never meant anything of my future judgement,
I still keep evidence of what have I already discarded because my brain already judged it before it even arrived,
I keep measuring the raw thing before I have even finished gathering it, and I am trying, slowly, to let the gathering happen first, and real assessment could happen later…
There is a whisper of an idea I almost threw away because it arrived looking unfinished, thin and unimpressive, nothing like the confident ones I usually telling stories with,
There is a whisper of an idea I almost threw away because it arrived looking unfinished, and I have a history of mistaking quiet for weak and loud for worthy,
There is a whisper of an idea I almost threw away because it arrived looking unfinished, but something made me pause long enough to set it aside instead of figuring out the next possible step,
How many quiet ones have I already lost because I only knew how to recognize the loud ones as much more real,
There is a whisper of an idea I almost threw away because it arrived looking unfinished, and I am starting to keep the unfinished ones on purpose now, just to see what they become after reassessing its inner structure…
I collect these small, unproven things and then punish myself for not knowing their worth yet, it’s as if certainty is supposed to magically arrive at the exact moment I start collecting them,
I collect these small unproven things and then punish myself for not already knowing their worth, demanding a verdict from myself before I've given the thing enough time to even take shape,
I collect these small, unproven things and then punish myself for not knowing their worth, the punishment costs me more than the ignorance ever actually did, realizing too late for the hidden to unfold,
What would happen if I let something stay unproven for a while without treating that as my something that might not actually work, or treating it with automatic flaws to begin with,
I collect these small unproven things and then punish myself for not already knowing their worth, and I am tired enough now to finally set that particular punishment down, and I realize that perhaps the work was never asking me to know its worth yet, only to keep gathering what might become something…
Watchwords:
A fragment I picked up without knowing,
Grading the raw thing before gathering it,
The whisper I almost threw away,
Punish myself for not already knowing,
These small unproven things I collect,
Here is Tikatarot, who dares you to answer the question, “Who am I?”..
As and will always be reminding you to dream:
