It's as simple as that. Doesn't matter if you have been riding that horse for years. If you take a break, there's always a sliver of doubt and concern in the back of your mind.

If you are a regular visitor to my site, you know that I have a writing schedule that I swore up and down that I would get through. I broke that promise in June, with one of my two week challenges. The more frequent challenges must have gotten to me. I was fresh out of ideas and had zero motivation.

I decided within the first week of not being able to start a month long challenge to take a break. It was hard to come to terms with that and I felt like a failure. I know now that everyone needs to step back once in a while. Which has turned out to be a good and a bad thing once again.

I posted four pieces between last night and this morning. These are pieces that I wrote during the month on a whim. While I am happy that I wrote them and was satified with them after I had finished them, I am doubtful of them now.

I fear that my tone of voice and subject matter is the same as it has always been. I fear that I have not grown. I fear that it's too simple. I fear that it's too complicated. I fear that it will be misunderstood and that no one will like even one of them.

These fears are natural. I may have everything or nothing to worry about. But this always happens when I step away from writing for a while. While posting these pieces up, I came to a realization: In one's craft, you will always experience these fears. You will always worry about how others will take your work. You will always have a small shred of doubt in the back of your mind. Knowing this and practicing your craft anyway is the key to growth, in addition to constant learning and relearning of skills.

So get back on the horse. Your fear should be what if you don't get back on, not what happens when you do get back on. Giving up is scarier than trying.

You deny me
in the small spaces
of your heart.

I often pause
quietly and
riot your denial
using handfuls of ink
and my fingertips,

writing declarations sloppily
on PostIts found
on the table I cry
on after every visit
I have with you.

Every time I see you,
I hold your glaze loudly
as I secretly place
my notes in your hair.

They're for the girl
you'll love loudly in
all the places
we've quietly been.

Next time she runs
her fingers through your hair,
confessionals will stick
to her fingertips,
your denial duly noted.

Power decays,
brightly dimmed
as Luck strolls in,
often exaggerating
its beauty, transparent
and florescent

The mouths of fate
walk around with arsenals
of bitterness rolling inside

Tongue and cheek,
stained with metallic jealously
as the beauty of luck
puts power in a chokehold.

It's hard to forgive them
for crashing the party and 
causing a fight.

This time, I'll stand 
in the corner 
with my broom and wait.

High school sweethearts perform for their audience. They ring wedding bells or go to the same colleges. Homecoming doesn't end until they bring the baby home from the hospital. He goes to work, she stays home with the kids. She prepares supper for him, he expects dessert when they go to bed. They go on humble family vacations to the shore and always go back to school shopping on September 1st. They go on this way for 10 years until one day, one of them wakes up in another person's bed. The divorce is uglier than last season's pumps and the kids end up not believing in love anymore. All of this was for the people who said we looked cute together, that we could end up as prom king and queen. This is the American dream? Forget that! I rather go out with the nerd from AV club. At least I might end up with a Bill Gates.

Fleshy porcelain dolls 
bum rush the train 
car, smelling of 1960's
flowers pressed up against 
their eerily reminiscent updo. 

Men's eyes buzz around their seats. 
Personally, I find grandma's nectar too sweet.