There is a dull distaste for the world
\nthat begins with myself. The anger with inefficiency
\nbegins with my own lack of discipline.<\/p>\n
How sorely I tread through the day ahead,
\nwounded and ready to attack. Behind all the sharp words
\nI save in my head, beneath the images of faces
\nI want to shout down, there is a disappointment with who I am,
\nwith my inability to meet the expectations
\nI set for myself, that I expect of others.<\/p>\n
An underlying fear of living a poor life.
\nNot experiencing the levels I want to reach,
\nto not be authentically myself,
\nwhen it’s the idea of myself that makes me its prisoner.<\/p>\n
All my efforts, that I so desperately worry are in vain,
\nare, in fact, vainly attested to the narrative that upholds my self-importance.
\nWhose approval do I seek more than my own?
\nYet the standards for that approval are conditioned by comparisons to others.<\/p>\n
How do I surrender the idea of myself,
\nto the freedom to be whatever I already am in each moment?
\nTo arrive as is, open to the experience, not resistant,
\nwithout preconceived desires working towards an ideal outcome,
\njust okay to discover the process as it comes,
\nto self-discover, as if stepping into a river,
\nwhen base instinct screams not to drown,
\nand intentions long to swim for the far shore.<\/p>\n
Somewhere between instinct and intention is the river,
\nis the world, and amongst its folding waters is myself
\nholding onto the idea of myself that keeps me afloat, or so I think.
\nTo let go, to let drown, to choose to ride the current,
\nand trust that authenticity will arise as the body learns to swim inside the moment.<\/p>\n
No matter how great the swell may pull,
\nthe gravity that anchors all to the lowest recesses,
\nthe plum will drop, the center will hold
\nas the entire planet shifts.
\nI too am an anchor of myself, unmoved in the wake,
\nso still I almost forgot it was there.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
There is a dull distaste for the world that begins with myself. The anger with inefficiency begins with my own lack of discipline. How sorely I tread through the day ahead, wounded and ready to attack. Behind all the sharp words I save in my…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":965,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[11],"tags":[6054,5787],"class_list":["post-134139","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-half-marathon-poem","tag-hour-9-2023","tag-2023-poetry-marathon"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134139","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/965"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=134139"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134139\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":134181,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/134139\/revisions\/134181"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=134139"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=134139"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=134139"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}