The Holes That Make You Whole

There is a hole in my chest. 

On the left side. Close to the heart.

My wife says it looks like someone 

has taken a handful of me

and ripped it off.

I don’t know where I got it

She might be right.

There are small holes in my head, 

Most were closed with stitch or two.

From the time of being curious

and not afraid of the world.

I got the first one when I was one

and last one at eleven

when the world started to scare me

There is a hole in my right earlobe

Small one, where the bone has cracked. 

It looks as if I had a piercing there.

I didn’t. I was in a fight

I have a hole in my soul,

From caring more of death than living

For bigger part of my life.

That surprisingly still continues - less lonely now.

I would love to call it a scar,

but old habits die hard.

I have a hole in my forehead.

From being hit by a car

They say it's magic that I didn't go mad.

I now look like Harry Potter.

I sometimes worry if I've lost my mind,

but don’t know how to tell.

These are the holes I look through 

when I look at life.

The empty spaces that,
when linked together and filled between
make me.

And sometimes with all these holes,

I feel like a damn good and old 

Swiss cheese.

Inspiration

As you must already know, from many previous posts, I have been writing the last 3 years or so and as it turns out, it has also had some effect.
True, some people have said that the writing was ok or funny or unexpectedly good (I still don't know what they actually expected. It seems that I disappointed them).
However, it seems that this is not the only effect I have.
I know at least 3 guys (gender neutral) who turned into "He can write sh*t, why not me"and started writing down their own stories. And also asking advice from me. Sorry. All I can say is that if you enjoy what you do, as in that case there is at least one who does.
I hope this is worth it.
It was for me. Even if the publishing does not happen.

A plank page

And here it is.
The plank page staring at my face. Intimidating.
I know I have not written here for some time and to be honest, I don't even know if I will finish this post. Nothing says I will.
But here is an excuse: I have been writing something else.
A fantastic tale that came way longer than I expected (78k words). I hope to hear from the publisher within this year (and if not, we'll see)  I'm still not sure that I really wrote it as when I take a piece of paper and try writing again, it just intimidates me. It is as if I have already done something (maybe not good or bad, but at least I finished it) and now cannot start a new thing/project.
Narrativia, the goddess of narrative, does not care however. You are just a vessel and the thoughts will come and just a few days ago I wrote down a short story just after arriving home from work. I wrote it all down with one shot. It was just so clear and it wanted to came out. Had there been need for a longer text, I'm not sure I could have done it yet.
I feel that there are some other things that I want to investigate and write about, but it has to come on it's own time. It makes no sense to force it, if you do it for your own pleasure and no-one expects you to deliver and keep deadlines.
The process is important.
So process I shall and I'll try not feel bad about not filling the blog.