(no subject)
Creativity Bust
It’s never been this bad before
The sleepless nights, the hum of words under my skin
I’m tripping over myself with the need to write
But try as I might
There’s just nothing to be said
I gotta go
Get out of here
Start over somewhere else
I feel restless in my own skin
Incomplete
I’m searching and searching and yet I’m not feeling it
Autopilot.
My mind is racing, but the words get lost from head to fingers
Blind ramblings
Trying to give and give until something connects
Something’s got to make sense
I feel defeated
Like somehow I failed
Like I was the fault in this situation.
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Writing
It’s easy like I remember.
Sitting and letting my words go without much conscious thought
I never understood people who said it was hard
What could be hard about letting your thoughts pour out?
They write themselves, after all.
I missed the feeling of letting everything in out.
So much to say and yet nothing at all
How odd it is to realize I’ve rather missed this
The disjointed thoughts, the letting go,
The writing, writing, writing.
Its always the latter stuff I end up liking more
But there’s also these run-ons full of thoughts but nothing of substance
Maybe this time I’ll stay with it
Maybe this time I’ll believe
Or maybe just like everything else
I’ll stop before I see it through
Afraid