I am not resting - By Salem Youngblood

Written By: Salem Youngblood

Category: Poetry

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Salem Youngblood presents "I am not resting," a poignant piece in the Poetry category. This work delves deep into the personal struggle against inertia, exploring themes of resilience and self-reflection. Salem's words capture the tension between desire and action, offering a raw and honest glimpse into a mind grappling with its own constraints.

About the Work

"I am not resting" is an evocative portrayal of the internal conflict faced by many. Salem Youngblood uses vivid imagery and introspective language to convey the frustration and helplessness of being unable to act despite the strongest intentions. The poem's mood oscillates between despair and determination, highlighting the complexity of mental battles often hidden beneath the surface.

I am not resting

Original Submission by Salem Youngblood

I have been trying to stand up

for three hours.

This is not a metaphor.

My bladder is throbbing.

My mouth is dusty.

There is a glass of water

six feet away.

Six feet.

I could crawl there.

I could drag myself across the floor

with my fingernails scraping against the boards and drink like a dog.

Instead,

I sit.

And repeat to myself:

stand.

Stand.

Stand.

Stand.

The order leaves my brain

and dies somewhere behind my ribs. Again.

Stand.

Nothing.

Again.

Move.

Nothing.

Again.

Please.

Nothing.

There is a peculiar horror

in watching your own hand

refuse an order

you are certain you gave it. The body is mine.

I have a birth certificate.

I have lived inside it for decades.

And yet some days

I am only the renter,

and whoever owns the house has changed the locks.

*

They call this laziness.

What a beautiful word.

So clean.

So simple.

Lazy.

A word that can never be unpacked.

A word that lets everyone go home thinking they have understood you.

You could do it

if you wanted to.

I want to.

Then do it.

I can’t.

You just said you want to.

I know.

Then do it.

I—

Do it.

I am trying.

No, you’re not.

And there it is.

The verdict.

No trial necessary.

*

The dishes sprout fur in the sink.

The laundry becomes a minor geological event. One shirt.

Another.

Another.

Layers building

until Monday is buried beneath Wednesday and I cannot remember

which stratum holds

the socks I need to wear.

There are unanswered messages.

Forms to be filled out.

Appointments to be made.

Food rotting in plastic caskets

because cooking involves cutting

and cutting involves washing

and washing involves finding the sponge

and the sponge smells wrong

and the fluorescent tube above the sink is flickering and someone outside is mowing the lawn and the refrigerator is humming

and my sock seam has rotated beneath my second toe and suddenly making a sandwich

has become a military campaign

for which I was issued

no ammunition.

But everybody else can do it.

Everybody else.

Those words have followed me

like pallbearers.

Everybody else can shower.

Everybody else can answer a text.

Everybody else can keep their room clean. Everybody else remembers to eat.

Everybody else can start.

Start.

Such a small word.

Five letters.

A guillotine.

*

I know what needs to be done. That is important.

Please understand that.

I know.

The trash needs taking out.

I know.

The email needs answering.

I know.

The prescription needs collecting. I know.

I know.

I know.

I KNOW.

Knowing has never been the problem. Wanting has never been the problem. Caring has never been the problem.

Sometimes I care so badly

that the task inflates inside my skull until it fills everything.

I think about doing it

while not doing it.

I hate myself for not doing it

while not doing it.

I construct elaborate systems for how I will start doing it

while not doing it.

I watch the hours vanish.

Then daylight.

Then another day.

And somewhere inside this body I am banging on the glass,

screaming,

MOVE.

*

Perhaps this is why

being called lazy hurts so much. Because lazy implies ease.

And I have never been at ease here. Rest should be a salve.

This is not.

There is no peace

in lying still

while your brain rattles off everything you are not doing.

There is no pleasure

in watching hunger become nausea because preparing food had too many invisible steps.

There is no indulgence

in needing to urinate

and bargaining with your own legs for another thirty minutes.

I am not resting.

I am locked in at the starting line with every muscle primed to run and some unseen force

grabbed around the back of my neck. *

Eventually,

I learned their language.

Lazy.

Difficult.

Careless.

Unmotivated.

Too much.

Not enough.

I swallowed every word.

I let them amass

inside me like teeth.

Now when nobody is here

to accuse me,

I do it for them.

Look at you.

Pathetic.

Get up.

Everyone else can.

Why can’t you?

Why can’t you?

Why can’t you?

The voice sounds like mine now. That may be the cruelest part.

*

There are days

when I do everything.

On those days

people point to my productivity

as if it were a prison warden’s report. See?

You can do it.

As though yesterday

were a confession.

As though ability were a light switch.

As though because the door opened once there could never have been a lock.

They do not understand

that my brain is weather.

That sometimes the road is clear. Sometimes there is fog.

Sometimes lightning.

Sometimes the bridge is not there.

And yelling at the traveler

does not build one.

*

So here is what I need you to understand: I am not lazy.

Lazy would be easier.

Lazy would mean

I had chosen the bed.

Chosen the dishes.

Chosen the unanswered messages.

Chosen the shame.

But I have spent entire afternoons

begging my own nervous system

for permission to brush my teeth.

I have cried over laundry.

I have hated myself over spoons.

I have stood in rooms

unable to remember why I entered them and wondered how something as complicated as me could be stymied

by something as ordinary

as starting.

Still,

tomorrow morning,

I will wake.

There will be water beside the bed.

There will be clothes on the floor. There will be another list.

And somewhere between thought and muscle,

the bridge may materialize. Or it may not.

Either way,

when I am sitting there

telling my legs to move,

please do not mistake stillness for peace.

There is a person inside it fighting like hell

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious event celebrating diverse voices in poetry and creative writing. The competition aims to provide a platform for writers worldwide to share their unique stories and perspectives, fostering a global community of literary talent.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Salem Youngblood for sharing the moving poem "I am not resting" in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Your contribution sheds light on the profound theme of internal struggle, resonating deeply with many. We appreciate your courage and creativity in bringing these experiences to life.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.