There are days I fear I simply don't have poetry in my heart. Days I fear my soul is made of stone, and I can't dance. Days that I can glimpse soulfulness, movement and grace but it will forever remain out of reach, a tease. Days that my feet thud on the floor and my eyes are clouded with mud. Days I am sure that there is no art I can ever understand or experience. Days that I'm the slowest one in the room, the one who needs the obvious explained, the one who cannot appreciate beauty and creation, the one who cannot speak to it for everything comes out dumb. Days that I see the folly in everything I have created or tried to create. Days that I'm everything wrong and unnecessary.
These are the longest days.
These are the loneliest days.
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