Insecure (poem)


Insecure excels at being mediocre
A master of being plain
A talent for being talentless
Insecure is in it’s domain
A wallflower struggling to break free
A baby bird ready to fly
As risk looms forward dangerously
Pushing Insecure to hide
Stay where it’s safe
Stick to what is known
Tomorrow will be a brand new day
To again have your failure shown
Disappointment marks your life
Like neon signs on the Vegas strip
Brightly laughing over your life
In a recurring nightmare trip
Maybe one day Insecure can breathe
But today Insecure suffocates
Drowning where they always fall short
Never able to make it out of today

By: Carrie Leigh



She saw him standing in the parking lot, his shoulders slumped in defeat.  But what was that rigidity in his frame?
One moment he was beloved by all those around him.  In the very next moment he was reviled.  How quickly and carelessly, she realized, that some turned their back.
While others around her claimed that they knew all along about his illicit activities, she never suspected a thing.  She loved him, respected him, admired him, and constantly sought his approval.  He had always been good to her.  He took care of her, supported, and encouraged her.
And then her protective, rose-colored bubble exploded and destroyed everything she thought she knew.
As a spotlight was shined on all of his dark, hidden truths he was turned into a monster by everyone around her.  Her secure routine imploded as their family fell apart at the seams and reformed into something that no longer fit her.  She listened with sadness as more details of his precarious life shattered like ice.
Would he survive?
Would his bottom ever come?
Why did she feel guilty for feeling sympathy for a man being destroyed?
So as she watched him in the parking lot, leaving the only home they’d ever shared, she longed to reach out to him, to be the one gentle hand in a moment filled with hate.  She wanted to cry for the hurt she was sure was tearing him apart.
But she couldn’t.
All she could do was glue a smile on her face, bury her true feelings in her heart, and lie about her hate.
She didn’t hate him.  She pitied him.
She didn’t want to cut herself off from him.  She wanted to help him.
She didn’t want to tear him down.  She wanted to show him the way back up.
But she couldn’t.
So she turned her back on him . . . and herself . . . and never saw him again.


Tearing down the wall


Tonight I will rediscover my words
I will excavate my missing sound
The voice in my pen that ran away
Will be ravenously found
Rhyme and prose will pour out
From the dam that restrained their power
They will be unleashed in a tidal wave
And be as lilting as a flower
The sun may rise
The sky colored in dawn
But the wall will come down
Block-by-block till it’s gone
Months have passed
With nary a word rhymed
A voice stolen by inattention
Will return because it’s MINE
No more silence
No more blank page
Silent words have not a home
Writer’s block no longer rules the day


The lost writer


I have forgotten how to write.

Alright, well maybe not, but I do feel like I’ve lost my voice.

The last few months it seems that there is no inspiration anywhere.  My writing has always been fueled by my emotions, and there has certainly been no shortage of emotional moments over the last couple of months.  The radio station alone has been one long emotional roller coaster since the end of July.  The emotional fuel tank is full.  There is just no destination for the ink pen.  My highway of words has been shut down.

I miss the moments when I could look around and get an idea for a poem or short story by seeing the breeze moving the trees or an oddly dressed person at the gas station.  I miss the late nights when a poem would write itself in my head and I would have to get out of bed to write it down just so that I could finally get to sleep.

There are no words to write anymore.  I have no muse.  I hold an ink pen in my hand and all I can do is stare at the blank page.  There are no characters that need their story told.  There are no lines of prose that need to flow forth.  There is simply nothing.

I have mental laryngitis.  Although I suppose most people would say it’s the bane of a writer’s existence . . . the two dreaded words . . . I have writers block.

Writer’s block . . . Take a look at those two innocuous words.  Separately they are unassuming, simple, and not at all terrifying.  But put them together as a phrase and it looms forth like a pillow over a writer’s face just waiting to suffocate.  What does a writer do when separated from their ink pen by a giant wall?  How does a writer speak when the words have run away?

I miss my voice.  I miss the weight of the ink pen in my hand and the way it flowed over the paper leaving gentle lines of a short story slowing telling itself to me, or the frantic and sloppy lines of a poem that needed to explode out of me like a passionate volcano.

I feel numb.

I feel shut down.

I am a writer who is lost.

Until next time . . .

The mirror almost got me fired

So it seems that my post yesterday about trying to get fired from my job was almost prophetic.  I almost got fired today.  It was all because of my own behavior at work.  I have been less than cooperative while training the new production director.  That is my own issue though, not his.  I was called into a meeting this morning with the general manager and the program director and my behavior was help up in front of my face like an ugly mirror.  It made me realize that I have mentally stepped into the role of the wife of our former general manager.  She was constantly saying we could never change promotions or procedures within the station because, “we’ve always done it this way.”  I have become her, because with all the upheaval in the last month and a half I just want something to stay the same.

But how can I expect the revamped Froggy to move into the future if I’m not even willing to move into the future?

Recently at church my pastor said something that I not long after ended up having to put into practice in one of my personal relationships.  “We can’t control someone’s action, but we can control our reaction.”  I need to put that into practice at work as well.  I have been able to control my reaction to the new program director, but my reaction is not what it should have been.  Had I been him, and been getting trained by me, I would have told me to “f**k off” several days ago.

I have apologized to him, and to another co-worker that my recent actions have negatively affected, but I still feel guilty for my behavior at work.  I wouldn’t want others to treat me the way I have been treating then, so why is it alright for me to treat others that way?  It’s not.

Getting a mirror held up to your face kind of sucks when you aren’t prepared to see your reflection, and today that mirror almost got me fired.

Until next time . . .

Nail on the head

I think I am trying to get myself fired.  I tried quitting over the the summer, and that didn’t work out so well.  I’m still here.  I don’t have the courage to quit because change is scary.  I have little to no other skills that might translate to another career.  So here I stay at the radio station that is making me miserable.

A couple of months ago I thought I could tough it out.  I convinced myself that things would look better with all the changes going on around here.  Instead all I am is even more unhappy.  People keep saying that I need to let the dust settle, wait it out so that we can all find our new routine.  The problem is that I have no idea what I am supposed to be doing, so I can’t find any routine, much less a new one.

I don’t have the courage to quit my job without having something secure lined up to start the next day.  So maybe I am trying to get fired.  If I get fired then I will be forced to find a new job.

I look at my mental state at work, at the difficult time I am giving the new production director (the new me) and all I can think is “what the hell is wrong with me?”  I know what is going on.  I am hurt that the company felt that I would be better purposed in another position, even though I had everything in my production position running like a machine.  I am hurt that all I seem to be doing at the station is bitch work . . . the little piddly stuff that would normally be given to an intern.  Nothing that I am doing lately requires me to think at all.

But then again, there are no small jobs, just small people.  Every task make a difference in the long run.  So why can’t I be happy that I have my job, instead of complaining that I feel like I have gotten domoted?

I have always felt like the lowest rung on the corporate ladder at this station.  There has always been someone who was better, that the listeners loved more, that was more deserving of the recognition for all the hard work they have done.  Yes, I realize that I am pulling the victim card at the moment, but I am hurt.  I am angry.  I am sad.  I feel like I mean nothing to this company.

I saw a meme on Facebook recently that said something along the lines of, “if you are constantly trying to prove your worth to others then you have forgotten your worth to yourself,” or something similar.  Maybe that is the problem.  Everything is in such a state of flux that I have no idea what I am doing, and therefore I feel worthless to myself.

Wow . . .

When the nail is hit on the head there is nothing left to say.

Until next time . . .


Change.  Some people love and embrace it.  Others hate it and fight it every step of the way.  I am a change fighter.  This month has made me almost unbearable to be around at work.

First we lost our general manager and his wife after it came to light that they were stealing from the company.  Then my program director moved to the morning show.  Then I (temporarily) moved to the afternoon on-air shift.  Then duties got rearranged.  Then we (finally) hired a new on-air person.  My program director got promoted to general manager.  The main morning show host got promoted to program director.  The new guy got hired to be the production director (my job), and I got moved to promotions.  Today has been a day of people moving their work areas from one desk to another.  Everything is changing, and it is making me extremely uncomfortable.

When I was a kid there was always a lot of change in my life that I had no control over.  My mom, sister, and I moved a lot.  I switched school frequently.  Some people in that situation learn to embrace change and roll with it.  In my case I avoid change.  I just like things to stay calm and predictable and unchanging.  Change scares me.  It brings out my ugly side.  I feel completely out of control.  I don’t know what to expect for tomorrow.  I like crave routine.  I need it to function.  Without routine I am lost.

I have been lost for the past month and a half, and nobody understands how I feel about everything that is going on.  All they can say it that change is good, change is something you must accept.  I understand that.  I know that nothing stays the same.  But there is too much and it’s happening too fast for me.  I don’t know where I fit in anymore.  I am lost.

I am optimistic about what the future holds for my radio station.  It is already a completely different place than it was 2 months ago.  I have faith that my newly-appointed general manager will lead us to big things.  I have faith that my newly appointed program director will make wise decisions for the product we are delivering on-air to the listeners.  I have no faith in the new production director.  I have no faith in myself in my new promotions position.  Everyday I have to convince myself to come to work.  I just want to hide from this place until everything calms down.

I’m 38 years old, and I realize that my attitude regarding all of the change going on around me sounds like the ravings of a teenager.  I also just realized how ironic this post is considering that at church we just wrapped up a sermon series titled “Change.”  Maybe I need to review the notes.  I am a creature of habit, and when things remain predictable then I know what to expect from each day.  I know where I stand in the grand scheme of things.  I know what is expected of me.  With all of the upheaval at the station lately though I don’t know anything.  I have no purpose or direction.  Everything will eventually calm down and we will fall into our new routine, and I look forward to that day.  But until then all I can do is take a deep breath and hold on tight, because I have no idea where this ride is headed.

Until next time . . .