I sit down to type
My 75 pound pitbull
Stanley
Immediately plops his head down onto my lap
Pinning my right arm down
Stuck between his giant head
And my right hip
He’s so sweet
I dont want to move him
I am just barely able to continue typing
Its early in the morning
And I’m sipping on my coffee
It’s a cold and grey day
The first day of november
I had stayed in bed longer than I needed to
Reading
I was grateful
Truly grateful
That I could spend an extra hour in the warmth of my bed
With my dog
And
With my favorite poet
Not having to rush to work
Doing exactly what I wanted
For a few hours
It was pure.
I wanted more than anything
To have the freedom to do whatever I wanted
Whenever I wanted.
But
My shitty writing wasn’t going to pay my bills
I wasn’t a professional fighter yet
I was fading
Stuck in limbo
Working an unfulfilling job
Just to get by
Hoping one day I’d get my shot
One day I would breakthrough
In some sort of way
And be better
Happier
And maybe
I’ll have someone to share those moments with
Maybe not though
Still
In this moment
I had the chance to write
To fight
If only I wasn’t scared
Scared to take a chance
Things will never change if I don’t
I know this
I try to overcome them
The fears
They are an illusion
Created by us
Our minds
That pinball machine between our ears
Telling me I am not good enough
Telling me to stay comfortable
I try to hit the ball back
And work
Work harder
The only confidence I have
I have because of the work
My work
My art
My self expression
Thats the only way I can hit the ball back
One step at a time
One punch at a time
One word at a time
And I keep the pinball from falling perfectly between my two ears
So I keep trying
even if my arm is numb from Stanley
I really should just move him.