Uncomfortable comfort zones

I think I’ve always wanted to do slam poetry. I’m unsure, though. I mean, I really want to perform, but at the same time I know I never will. I don’t mean to demean myself, it’s just truth– I don’t have the knack to speak. And it’s much more than reading a poem: it’s the hand gestures, the body language, the velvet language, the ability to amplify the attitude in your writing through physical expression. You must make your thoughts bleed through your sleeves so that the audience will feel, and that I can’t do. My writing is meant to remain dormant. But there are times where my poems hate their restrictions and seem desperate to leap off the pages. Sometimes my poems want to “be free”, and I feel frustrated because I just can’t. It’s a mixture of being afraid of humiliation, judgement, and being crippled by stage fright. I am very very defensive when it comes to going out of my comfort zone. Seldom do I expose myself to situations that engender anxiety. We are our own harshest critic– no matter how much praise we receive for our accomplishments, we will always find ways to think, “I could have done that better”, rather than celebrate our drive, our abilities, and most importantly, our failures.
We know ourselves the most, and therefore we know the most effective way to destroy ourselves. We are our own harshest critic. It’s automatic, I think, to scrutinize myself in the desperation of needing to find fault.
Do I stay in the dark because I truly love the solitude, or because I’ve desensitized myself to it?
I wish, sometimes, that I could stand on a stage and just open my rib cages to release what words I restrain.
But at the same time, I lack courage to do many things.


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