Hovering over the page
filled with worry
of wasting my time
of producing nothing of value
finally, after all this time, realizing
that I don’t have to offer
what I believed.

I can no longer be afraid
of making shitty art.
Art is art.

Holding back, holding out,
for the perfect words to come
has led to weeks of nothingness.

Making the less-than-desirable, the difficult,
the imperfect,
moves me forward.