To be human is to judge. Poetic Journal

Dear lovestar,

I cycle back to beloved activities, so I land now again at the feet of journaling and please forgive me for staying away for so long.

I used my voice recorder to record a huge recording and using the awesome tech of speech to text, I present to you, my new journal page for more conformation of my crazy, I created this as a huge spoken word poem type of creation.

Journal Entry ~ To Be Human is to Judge

Today I sat with myself and all the noise in my head.
I keep circling the same question:

To be human is to judge.
How do I know?
How do I know what’s underneath what I feel?
How do I know when I’m facing the real problem… or when I’m completely wrong?
When am I mistaken, when is my mind a wreck, when did I misunderstand something crucial?
And how do I know if what I feel is truly mine or something borrowed from others, leaking into me?

I don’t know what it was, but I felt something and let it win.

I exist in this mess of thoughts, in this strange chaos where nothing feels solid.
At my best, I’m still a mess.
I wonder: do I need a doctor, do I need rest, do I need a psychiatrist or simply a bed?
How will I know for real when what’s coming is death when every other day feels like dying already?

For now, this is how I live.
I’m learning and growing, trying to crawl out of it somehow.
I don’t choose to create from a sad state, but what else can I do except what I know?
I learn as I go. I grow.

The future feels like a puzzle I can’t solve.
When it comes, it’s just another “now.”
The present turns into the past, the future arrives as the present, and the tongue-twister never ends.
So I judge the past with today’s awareness, knowing that in the future I’ll judge today just as harshly.
Will I call my present mistakes failures later? Most likely.

And it’s not just my fate: it’s humanity’s mess.
Some of us make it, some of us never had the chance.
Maybe judgment itself is the source of unease.
Maybe acceptance of my human mess is the only way to relax.

I try. I really do.
But sometimes I break under the weight of my own expectations.
Sometimes I lose my calm, collapse under pressure, and throw everything away.
It makes me wonder if failure itself is proof that I’m human.

Words are all I have to bear it.
Confusion, too, is a strange comfort, it’s a place I can stand when I don’t know how to feel or what to say.
Maybe I’ll always feel like I’m not enough, unworthy, unwell.
But speaking helps. Writing helps.

I don’t write this for anyone else, not for validation, not to be understood.
Still, I know that sometimes my words carry the weight of feelings others have too.
If you’ve ever felt alone in confusion, you’re not alone.
If you’ve ever struggled with judgment, both of yourself and others, you’re not alone.

Because to be human is to err.
And to be human is to judge.

The poem is extremely long, read the entire thing for free here:

https://www.patreon.com/posts/to-be-human-is-139002801?utm_medium=clipboard_copy&utm_source=copyLink&utm_campaign=postshare_creator&utm_content=join_link

Or read this cool poem instead:

I’m still thinking,

Eve