Run out.

Is there much of a place for someone who can’t accept criticism? Can’t build on people’s well ment comments. Can’t add to themselves.

Is there any room for one who insists on who  they are without getting to know who that is and what that means?

I mean what room is there for growth without making the effort to discover how?
How do i sit here and be. Waiting to change. While consciously, purposefully avoiding all chances of that happening?

Listen.

There is self acceptance from self knowledge. Bringing self love.

And there is self deception.
A laziness from words stored inside you wont let out. There is fear of judgement from people who are better or worse. There is pretending you dont care and that this is not something you want. Or wanted.
There is jealousy of the successes of those who give enough of a fuck to put in the work. There is envy for the success and recognition you dont deserve.

There is me. Running around with all these words. Unwriten. If written, unpublished. If published unperformed. If performed not effective. Inneffective. I am.

Is there any room, any place at all for a poet who has run out of words? Out of buildings. Out of steam.