Passion.
Dedication.
Such strong words.
Carving into your soul.
Its hurts, and I feel a pressure
As if it's foreign to me.

The Dreams, Hopes, Dedication
Blood, Sweat, Tears
Of Others
Press onto me
I am suffocating,
My heart is beating,
The tears are flowing.

I see others around me
I see their faces, compressed or soft, as they show their
Dedication
and
Passion.

They dance,
They paint,
They sing,
They play an instrument.

I begin to feel illiterate
by their success
Words of mine don't flow
Where's my pen?
The Tap Tap Tap of the pen
Isn't there,
That comforting sound
That’s as clear as morning,

I look into myself
I don't see this
"Dedication"
I feel inadequate.

I sit and wonder
what I have to offer over
My mind and my presence.
But my search is unsuccessful.

What do I do well?
I think to myself
But,
I'm too humble to say.

I look at the scramble of words on a screen
That aren't mine.
That's so good, I conclude to myself.
It slows me down to think like this
Because,
Theres no Dedication
And my words don't flow
They're halted in my inadequacy.

When someone appreciates my work
And tell me my words invoke
Feeling,
Dedication,
and thought
I get this Dedication back,
because it was a lack
of confidence,
in the end.

I'm adequate
And Dedication is in my name
Passion is my mind, my voice.

This pressure doesn't hurt anymore.
I embrace the pain.
My heart opens to absorb others success
as I
value mine.