Am I Enough For You?

These overly personal public diary entries lament my self-consciousness. Slowly stuttering into my most primal confessions. When's the last time I fell asleep with a smile? I hate myself for longing. I give myself away to prove what I have to offer. It ends up both lacking and abundant. I keep missing the point. If I can patch this self-criticism with an awareness of the problem and prove I understand the solution, that's enough for me to delude myself into a fantasy in which the problem is solved. Is this any different? But the problem is much simpler, and I'll express it now and let it be. These words are a bandaid on a gaping wound that needs to be healed in silence and action. 

"Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash." - Leonard Cohen