Tag: settling

Nice Enough

Just because they are nice doesn’t mean they are right for you.

Granola is nice, but you don’t crave it.

Tap water is not a substitute for champagne.

Tap water is fine.  Some people don’t drink, and yes, tap water will quench your parched mouth.  But as it meets your tongue, you will wonder about champagne.

My darling, even if they are the most beautiful shade of taupe all of Sherwin-Williams has to offer,  your eyes illuminate for only the boldest reds.

Quit convincing yourself that you can make lanterns from lightless bodies;

That you will be less lonely lying next to a lightless body;

That you can settle yourself out of all the things you want.


Desires will not die as neatly as the white linens you fold them inside of.


What I Gave Up– Sacrifices of Privilege

Submerged in student debt, I traded my desire for privileged peeves my entitled ego cannot vent in anything other than verse.

I picked my path,

Do not make excuses or apologies for how I exist,

And yet, I am wrestling myself to release my wild.

Here is how this woman has banished her wilderness:

  1. I chose comfort over creativity, complacency over courage.
  2. I am my own axis, and what if I cannot keep myself spinning?  There is no one to rev my momentum, no pushes or pulls into progress.  I am my own inertia.
  3. What if I’m not good enough at what I love?
  4. I had to feed myself.
  5. I’ve creatively starved myself
  6. I am in debt.
  7. Debt substitutes for excuse in my mind, fills in for fear, is the explanation for all the things I do not possess the courage to command.
  8. My soul is art.
  9. My ego is convention.
  10. Deep down, I don’t believe I deserve the life I know I am capable of living.

I lament all the things I have the power to change,

All the talent I have, and all the gall I lack to do something with it.

I am a tragedy of privilege.

Fleeing the fear of normalcy,

Of wondering how many substitutes I can swallow before my life becomes sub par.

How do I not settle?

Not sink into something short of self?

I feel the tracks to regret beneath my feet,

I feel the intersection splitting where my heels used to meet.

In my rumbling, riveter gut, I know the answer.

I know it in my bones,

The ones with my grandmother in the marrow,

“Revolution.  Set yourself on fire and make soil from the ashes.”