Ambition

Free-form poetry

Internal dialogue,
going forward,
backward,
directionless.

So much I wish to accomplish,
dreams I earnestly 
passionately
want to pursue.
When I use that word, wish, to
convey a relentless,
unstoppable
drive, I mean that it’s more like
an overwhelming necessity. 
Like grim reaper’s pursuit of wayward souls.

As long as I can remember, the
vision was to be a published author;
to walk into virtually any brick and mortar
to hold proof in my trembling hands.

That’s still the dream

But life’s unpredictable.
It’s simultaneously weird and sad and wonderful.
I thought I’d have many books--
maybe a bestseller--
thirty-plus years down the road.

I’ve never even finished a rough draft book

Self-esteem became an issue
as far back as grade four, only
to get worse over time. 
Depression, social anxiety, even
paranoia manifested in my early twenties.
That took a profound toll

I’m attempting change now,
accepting creative and 
personal challenges.
Some days, I feel more at ease,
comfortable in my skin.
Other days, I force myself
out of bed. 
I have to.

Remaining focused is
something I’ll always 
have to combat.
Mental illness, too.
I’m hard-wired differently;
those challenges won’t magically vanish.
And I’m okay with that.
Can’t change it, anyway.

It’s not about dwelling on
what could’ve been, or 
letting perpetual distractions
guide my hand.
It’s akin to utilizing strengths
and discarding rubbish.
I’m still learning
evolving
but I’ll never stop dreaming.
I can only chase them

relentlessly.

***

(Imagery courtesy of https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMDcyYzY3YjAtNzk2MS00ODQwLWI2NTQtNDVhYmFhNGE4ZjkxXkEyXkFqcGc@._V1_FMjpg_UX1000_.jpg)