Little morning songs

I have this tendency to set very high expectations for myself. In my behaviour, in my relationships, in my art, in my academic life. My general philosophy around creating things is that if it's not going to be the most amazing and significant piece of art ever created, then there's no point in even beginning any act of creation. Which stops me from beginning anything. Or if I begin anything at all, I tend to judge it as unworthy and toss it out as being stupid and unnecessary.

A significant part of my problem comes from the fact that I appreciate and even revere the work of extraordinary, hard working writers, musicians, and artists. For example, my favorite songwriters are Tori Amos and Hawksley Workman, who are ridiculously hard working, well trained and disciplined composers and musicians. When I sit down at the piano to just play around and write a song for fun, which I do every so often, I can't do anything at all, because if I expect the first song I've written in five or more years to be up to the intricate quality of a Tori Amos song, then I'm automatically setting myself up for failure. I'm not going to be able to write some amazingly complex song right out of the blue, but I feel that if I'm not going to be extraordinary then I shoudn't even bother doing it. And so, I'm a failure before I even begin.

So, what I've decided to do is set up alittle project for myself. It's called " Little Morning Songs".
Every morning, or afternoon, really, depending on when I have time, I'm going to sit down at the keyboard and write a song, without judging, without striving for perfection. With as little editing as possible, keeping it simple. Not tryng to write a poetic masterpiece, but just words.

Writing each song in under an hour, and not obsessing.

Yesterday's song:

Dm-Am-F-G

I lost my voice when I was
three parts into this girl
standing chest cold
against an x-ray board
uncovered to glass and light

Dark room developed bright
photographs just chambers
inside

Am-Em

Growth not right
too slow too undefined
this is not the past
she gives me now

Dm-Am-F-G

And I've been in rooms
that could never be mine
no curtains, and windows
for everyone to see
and I learned that screaming
is just another way
to get locked in

My heart became severed
murmuring word to the walls
unheard
my roots pulled up
so many knots left my hands
calloused

Am-Em

This girl
this girl
cut clean (x 3)

Am-G-F

All through the day.