Confessions of an Optimistic Pessimist

Some days,
I am far too
Tired
Weak and frail
Dejected
To be broken open
Over and over again
To be researched and analyzed.
To splinter my bones
and pour over the marrow.
I dont want to say the wrong thing
Therefore, I write and rewrite and revise and edit and draft
To get it right.
I crave the safety of anonymity
And isolation some days.
Most days.

Put me on a platform

And i can rise and soar

Or I can succumb and withdraw

Some days, I dont have the courage to discern the difference.