gone gone gone

by mickharris

as usual, as soon as i gather my dregs and submit and start getting rejections (and four acceptances! a banner round), the words just dry.  the.  fuck.  up.

i am still here, i am not gone

but i am silent, for now i suppose.

i tanked an open mic, which was pretty lovely.  this might have something to do with hesitation (which just auto-corrected to gestation, which i like much better).

see my entire life i’ve always succumbed to the nagging feeling that i’m just not good enough

that every writer i meet is looking at me with pity

(this is how i felt about being in grad school, with my advisors, with my friends, with my peers)

because i’m just not really all that worthwhile in terms of my words

(or as a person)

and i’m sad

i’m that embarrassing woman clutching her words with either a half-smirk or high blush of self-knowledge

wasting your time at the open mic

slurring through two rough poems

too fast

to make two minutes

of what turns out to be painful gibberish