What should you do when you realize /
that the talent you possess for your art /
is rough-hewn and not up to any task, /
not for golden voiced angelic purity, /
and certainly not for following literary norm, /
and that it would take all the years /
that have already passed /
to polish your voice to the point where it could give forth /
a clear-noted perfectly-pitched symmetrically-designed artistic marvel?
~
Practice makes perfect for the artist /
but what does it make for those of us who are just using the sound of our own voices /
as a way to breathe when life is heavy with smog?
~
I cannot see the future but /
somehow I know that I /
am not it.
Like a horse ready to retire /
my path is off the track now.
The cutting edge is sharp; / there’s a reason they call it that /
and I seem to have already bled out.
~
It may be the best kind of giving up /
to find a place that doesn’t ask for more than amateur maturity /
a place where I feel no need to strive /
for more than what I already am.
saara 