The Trick Is

The trick is to write.

The trick is to write and create, and not endlessly ruminate
if my words are potent enough, if they burn enough, if
they showcase what I have learnt, enough. If I discern
that it is not enough
to endlessly polish old sentences, if repentance is
the genesis of living in parentheses, then I have had enough

of acceptances, I have had enough of
fear.

Fear.

Fear is the mind-killer, fear
that manifests itself as I swallow a career, fear
that makes ambition adhere
to my skin, fear that makes doubt
adhere
to everything I begin, fear
that sprinkles salt on my sins, that sprinkles salt
on the fertility of my mind.

Fear that manifests itself in this need to be polite,
to make connections, to curb affections, to be slight-
ly conscious of my complexion, of
intonation.

Fear of
being stupid, of touch, of falling out of love,
of loving too much.

Absolute truth does not exist, so I hunger instead for freedom. The freedom to be alive sans qualification, because in the long run we are all dead.

And yet
I do not write enough. Do not love enough. Do not run enough. Endlessly flick my thumb on my digital handcuffs.

Freedom from the Blood God. Freedom from all Gods, and what they represent.
Freedom from making do.
Freedom from fear.
Freedom from you.