Of all the broken passions and frustrated dreams, I found that not having any of that was the biggest loss of them all.
Passionate people make my heart knot.
Wisdom told me that it wasn’t too late to begin my life. But I still knew that it was. The jealousy I felt of those who started young, and had their entire childhood to practice carelessly was rooted deep inside me.
It felt that everything was a rush. You can’t take your time anymore. You either commit your life, or you move on. Hobbies couldn’t exist because they were a waste of time.
Was that society speaking? Or was it just from the thoughts in my head? The more I considered it, the more I doubted that it came from anywhere but myself.
And yet, even knowing that I had all the time in the world, I still felt the overwhelming rush and desperation of finding something to feel so firmly for.
As life went on, I wondered if it was apathy that would be my downfall, or if I really just never loved something.
Jealousy is all I can feel when I see passionate people have their hearts broken. Overwhelming jealousy. Bittersweet feelings, too. Sympathetic loss, but personal hatred. And the never-ending desperation to get myself to do something, but not having anything to do.
“Of course you have things to do.”
You don’t understand. I have felt nothing. Don’t pretend to understand me. Don’t pretend to know what I’m talking about. Everything I say comes from my head, a place no one has ever been able to understand—something that I see and talk with everyday.
You can’t walk into an inside joke and pretend to understand—it’s just embarrassing. Well this is frustrating. The everlasting knot in my stomach only fuels my agitation.
I don’t have anything to do. Nothing. Nothing fills my heart. My chest is empty. The only feelings that pass through, are the losses and heartbreaks of other people—ones I connect to, maybe want to be. Nothing is for myself. The only ache that comes is that of not having anything to ache for. But can you even call that real? A passion to have a passion? That gets you no where. It leaves you standing there and watching as the world blooms in color, or no color. And you stand, transparent. Because you didn’t make a move, but you didn’t not make a move. You’re sea foam. You disappear. Nobody remembers—only the waves, or the stillness.
Heartbreak can’t even be used to tell you what it feels like to have no passion. And frustration isn’t the right word to explain how I feel when someone tells me I’m good at things. Or that I can start something. Or I just have to find what interests me.
I know, okay? I’m aware. I know that this isn’t the end of the world. I’ll either move on, or lock on something, won’t I? Doesn’t everyone?
I’m untrained. Talented in little, skillful in nothing. Even my best is intermediate. I leave things half finished. I don’t care about judgment, but for some reason I still don’t try all the way. Because if you show everyone what your best is, then they know. They’ll know all the effort I can give.
In my head, it doesn’t matter if they feel I’m worth it. I don’t care. I don’t. But for some reason I still don’t finish. I don’t like to struggle in front of people. I don’t like to mess up. I don’t like to show them what I can’t do—unless it’s something that I don’t care that I can’t do.
“You’re good at art, you don’t even have to try.”
My “good”, is not even remotely good. It’s ugly art. Half finished. None of my art is finished. Nothing? Nothing. Nothing is finished. I don’t finish. I don’t know why. Why don’t I finish my art? Why don’t I? Even my sketches are incomplete.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It’s not fair. It makes me so angry I could cry probably.
It makes me want to cry.
It makes me want winter to come back. The quietness. The cold. Because winter is good.
It makes me so sad. And jealous.
Wistful, but with overwhelming emotion. Yearning, jealous, envious. Nothing can describe the want I feel. I want it. I want it. I want it. I want it. I want. I want it. I want it so bad.
How can I have it?
Please tell me.
Don’t tell me the wrong things though. Tell me the right things.
Don’t tell me it’s easy. Don’t tell me I have time. Don’t tell me I have natural talents. Don’t tell me I just have to find it. Don’t tell me there are options.
Just tell me how I can have it. How can I have it?
Passion.
All I want is passion.
Passion is not something that I get based off wealth, or privilege, or authority. Passion is what it is. Passion is for anyone. My favorite people are passionate. I don’t understand. I love passion. I love it so bad that it hurts me that I can’t have it. I’m passionate about having a passion.
But who wants a passion over passion? Who wants that? It’s unproductive. It makes me tired. It makes me frustrated. And it makes me feel like rolling over in bed when I wake up.
I want to get up, with tired eyes, my body exhausted. I want to climb out of bed everyday, not because I want to get up, but because I have something to do that day that I chose I want to do.
I don’t care how much I hate my passion. How much I love it.
I want my passion.
I want something to call my passion.
How can I have it?
Points:
Time spent:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
Are you sure you want to delete this comment? This cannot be undone.
Mark this comment as a review? Points will be awarded to the poster.
Your comment was posted, but it wasn’t long enough to count as a review. Reviews need about four complete sentences (at least 250 characters). Try writing another review that explains your thoughts in more detail — the author will appreciate it, and you’ll earn points for it.
125,018 Literary Works • 672,857 Reviews
Hello Keljosks! Belated welcome to YWS! Incoming review!
Goodness this paragraph packed a punch. No one can truly know what another is thinking, even if they tell, they can be lying. And when you don't even know what's going on in there, it's like no one can come near and no one will ever understand you. It reminds me how a parent might invalidate their child and this is the kid's retaliation.Gosh, this writing is so raw and I can feel the anger bubbling up and out of you. It gets me at a loss of words when I try to describe the emotions this evokes. I love it. Now for the actual work.
I hope you don't mind if I give some comfort here. You might not think it's good art because you've been looking at it longer than a regular person looking at it would. As an artist myself, I know this feel all too well. You've been staring at it for so long that every imperfection is so apparent that it looks ugly. But to an outsider, it might be so beautiful, because they aren't looking for flaws. And your art might be incomplete because you are having too many ideas, and you want to jump to the next one at the expense of the current project.
I feel like an overall theme of this narrative, other than a loss for passion, is feeling rushed. The whole pace of the narrative is up-tempo. And there are lines that suggest this feeling like And I think having more than one theme in something of this nature is nice to read, even if this is at the expense of your feelings. <33333
So that's all I have for today! I hope you found some of this useful. And I hope these feelings pass quickly. Anyway byeeeeeeee<333
Wow, thank you for the in-depth insight. It%u2019s incredible that what I%u2019ve written has translated so well over text, and I%u2019m very glad. Thanks again.
Apparently apostrophes aren%u2019t working for me today%uD83E%uDDCD%u200D%u2640%uFE0F
Yeah apostrophes are glitchy in the replies of literary comments. But I'm glad you like it!
Wow. This poem is so raw and powerful, I can feel it in my soul. Also, a happy belated welcome to YWS! I hope you like it here; we have our fun.
First of all, the first thing I noticed was the deep longing that carried your entire piece from start to finish. It seemed to echo within itself, creating a valley so deep, the bottom is drenched in shadow. And the thing is, there is no hope in this poem, only begging questions and unanswered desires, and I love that. I've read many works that start like yours but end with hope and sun. But that's not how it always ends, and I'm glad you wrote that. I'm glad you didn't let others tell the narrator it was okay because it wasn't. So I really hope to see more of your work because what you have written is powerful. And I hope you know that.
Thank you so much
Of course!