Hard Truths (reposted by request)

QT quote

 

“All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.” ~ Ernest Hemingway

the truth…
the truth is too complex, too painful
like sticking your tongue under a bad tooth again and again
I’d rather write about the dark and space and zombies and vampires and creeping bloodsucking plants
than the things that really frighten me
that sick-sadden me
that tighten my stomach and my throat and hunch my shoulders in
and make my face feel all prickling hot and thin
I can tell you about letting it go
I can tell you not to beat yourself up
I can tell you ’til the cows come home (where DO those cows go anyway?)
about forgiveness and redemption 
and I mean it
In that I am fully immersed in the True
for you
me – not so much
unworthy
unwanted
un___ fill in the blank
But, I am not looking for denial
I don’t want the kneejerk rebuttal
not looking for no, you are wonderful
no, you are talented,
you are lovely
you are loved
these are hard words to write, harder to think
painful to feel
this is the truest truth I know

 

 

Chimera Poetry

QT quote

“All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.” ~ Ernest Hemingway

the truth…
the truth is too complex, too painful
like sticking your tongue under a bad tooth again and again
I’d rather write about the dark and space and zombies and vampires and creeping bloodsucking plants
than the things that really frighten me
that sick-sadden me
that tighten my stomach and my throat and hunch my shoulders in
and make my face feel all prickling hot and thin
I can tell you about letting it go
I can tell you not to beat yourself up
I can tell you ’til the cows come home (where DO those cows go anyway?)
about forgiveness and redemption 
and I mean it
In that I am fully immersed in the True
for you
me – not so much
unworthy
unwanted
un___ fill in the…

View original post 50 more words

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About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. Not.....me. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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