I am stuck. Somewhere between high expectations from myself and wanting to be liked by others. I am stuck. Somewhere between feeling responsible and procrastinating. I am stuck. Somewhere between will I get more attention for being excellent or for being a disappointment and I don’t give a fuck. I am stuck. Somewhere between the idea to write again about the Rhythms and the dance and the idea to write again about myself. I am stuck. Somewhere between three different TV series that I watch online and opening Gabrielle’s books randomly hoping to catch some inspiration. I am stuck. Somewhere between the hope that I might dig out something old I wrote and didn’t publish yet so I can just copy it and the hope that I will create something new and original again. I am stuck. Somewhere between the need to teach you something here and the longing to connect with you through my writing. I am stuck. Somewhere between oh no I can not do this and woohoo I can do everything. I am stuck. Somewhere between as long as the paper is not empty and as long as it has a soul. I am stuck. Somewhere between nobody is even reading this and there are people who love to read me. I am stuck. Somewhere between just relax and it will flow and keep those fingers moving on the keyboard until something shows up. I am stuck. Somewhere between the beginning and the end of this poem. Somewhere between I just don’t have it in me and everything I need is inside of me. Somewhere between I am beating around the bush and milking the Muse. Somewhere between how this looks and how this feels in your heart. Somewhere between documentary approach and live reporting. Somewhere between October and December. Here in my bed, dressed in a bathrobe with leopard print, smell of pancake is coming from the kitchen, Thierry is there typing something of his own as well, the tea is already cold. With love Silvija |