I had a terrible case of writer's block for about two months prior to writing this poem. I seriously thought if writing was something I was actually passionate about because when you're passionate about writing, ideas come to you fast and you have motivation keep on filling the page, something I was lacking at the time. Every day you see the world evolving and constantly molding into different shapes and seeing so many people do so many good things made me question about what I had to offer to the world.

I'd like to think of myself as full of good intention, but executed very poorly. I feel like a constant, like the world is continually growing but I am only shrinking over time and there isn't much I can do about that. After all, minds only echo the ideas of others into their own, grow into broader ideas, and the cycle just repeats. 

As a writer and a member of society, I will always have expectations of myself. This need to be better than what you already are is something that everyone has, especially me. To only put out stories and poems that don't even fit my own standards makes me feel like I can't offer anything more than what I already have. And apologizing for it is just out of instinct- something I feel like I have to do if I don't succeed my expectations. I feel like a lot of writers can relate to this, not only myself.