When Did I Stop Believing?

When did I stop
believing in myself?
Was it when I turned
my head away–
it seems for just
a moment–
from my main work,
the little one
who bears my eyes,
to write?

Was it when I looked away
from the page
and realized
I’m not that far
from where I started?

Was it when I…
started questioning
the heirarchy I put myself
in the world,
somehow forgetting
there was no heirarchy,
and yet there always
is?

Was it when I
took a nap
instead of painting
that I woke up
and realized
I’d spent four years
prostrate to
the higher mind,
just to get
a peice of paper
and not any talent
in return?

Was it when I realized
you weren’t listening?
Or when I realized
only children
and those with
too much time
had heard?

When did I stop believing?

And how can I start again?