If I knew what to write,
I would.
But I don't.
If I had the will, the stamina,
to connect the ideas that branched from my mind
and create a story with them,
I would.
But I don't.
I don't.
For some people,
it's easy to just pick up a pen and paper
or just open up a blank doc on their computer
and begin writing, typing, but no,
for me,
things are more complicated than that.
I struggle to write,
the pencil in my hand mocking me
with its fine point,
its sharpened edges cutting into my skin.
The blanket sheet of spiral notebook paper
staring up at me with space between the lines,
empty white space, free of ink, free of text--
free of anything but lines, lines, and more lines.
My laptop's white screen stares at me,
the beautiful picture of a blank document
enticing my eyes,
keeping them trained there,
hands hovering over the keyboard as I
ponder over what to write.
Who?
What?
When?
Where?
Why?
How?
The five W's and an H,
left hanging in the air,
multiple character names rushing through my brain,
story ideas riding around like they are on a crazy train,
my eyes downcast as the feeling of disdain
takes over my being and takes a sword to my brain
indicating that I have indeed been slain,
my nuclear membrane
appearing to be confuzzled since for some odd reason,
ideas can pass through but plots cannot.
So I sit here,
staring at my laptop's screen,
staring at my scribbled ideas
on: paper towels, loose leaf, sticky notes, etc
wondering what in the heck they all mean.
~~
Welp,
guess I'll be the greatest at not being able to write.
Readers: Retweet.
A/N
Song: The Greatest - Sia ft. Kendrick Lamar
First 3 stanzas written on December 2nd.
YOU ARE READING
Body {Prose Vol. 1}✔
Poetry❝A struggle with body image is a study of physicalities and of the mind itself, for the mind plays with what the eyes perceive. The body, mind, and soul are connected, and it is up to us to determine how to respect them.❞ - Me These writings are my...
