Because I’m Feeling Poetic And Stuff…

…this one’s called

Release My RamblingĀ Soul.

When everything hurts

And this life stops making sense

When the demon flirts

And youā€™ve grown weak from the pretense.


When calling it quits

No longer sounds too extreme

Youā€™re stuck on the fritz

Ā And finished with rose-colored daydreams.


The purpose you crave

Has never seemed to break through

It ebbs like a wave

That fierce passion your heart once knew.


Your doubts and distrust

Always demand the last word

And hope turns to dust

Until your perceptions are blurred.


But thereā€™s a faint spark

Youā€™ve been repressing too long

Which lights up the dark

And hums the rhythm to a new song.


Youā€™ll wander too far

And youā€™ll question each crossroad

It’s just who you are

A free-spirit aching to explode.


Feisty, brazen, tough

That mask youā€™reĀ scaredĀ to remove

But call your own bluff

BecauseĀ there’s nothing left to prove.


Love, honesty, trust

They’ll complicate your whole world

But feel them, you must

SoĀ a heart of flesh can unfurl.


When theĀ cleansingĀ tears

MendĀ that brokenness inside

Ā Just shake off those fears

And spread your ramblingĀ soul open wide.

I Want to Feel Effective

Throughout my entire life, oneĀ recurring theme has dominated the choices I’ve made,Ā detours I’ve taken and convictions I’ve latched ontoā€”the need for efficacy. I crave that sense of influence, achievement, validation, agency. To feel command over setbacks. Invincibility over hardships. An upper-hand over karma.

Even when the feeling is tenuous or contrived, I want to believe it’s there.

WhyĀ this desperation for control? I have a few guesses, butĀ one sticks outā€”fear that my contributions don’t matter. That my existence lacks purpose. That I’m destined for mediocrity when this heart of mineĀ clamorsĀ for passion and inspiration. That I’m just not effective.

Call it aĀ “futility phobia,” but I often wonder if that desire forĀ impact willĀ ever come to fruition. After all, I can’t dictate the course of social justice. I can’t force another person to embrace the potential I know lives insideĀ them. I can’t transform our culture.

True. But I can shift my own attitudes and perceptions.

Instead of being a defeatist who second guesses where my life is headedĀ and what significance it could possibly have, I gotta do some major mental rewiring. Exchange the hesitance for confidence. The cynicism for enthusiasm. The anxiety for vitality.

Perhaps in the future, these words flowing from my spirit won’t get trapped in the obscurity of time and space. They won’t seem like a rambling stream-of-consciousness without focus, intentĀ or direction. Maybe this urgeĀ to writeā€”to express, to create meaningā€”will change the world someday.

Or not. I can’t predict an outcome. Nor can I control it. But to become moreĀ effective, I don’t need all the answers. I just need faith.

Faith that adversity forges empowerment.

Faith that mistakes build wisdom and character.

Faith that dedication reaps accomplishment.

Faith that each storyā€”even mine, even yoursā€”is worthwhile.