Why Aren’t I Writing?

I could say yesterday I slit the side of the tip of the middle finger on my right hand and it’s difficult.  Obviously it is possible. I’ve typed what you’re reading up to this point, so what other excuses do I have? None. I just haven’t thought enough about writing to actually do it or thought to actually make a move on the keyboard in vehement fashion.  The truth of the matter is there are a plethora of things I’m passionate about it. Perhaps I need more passion about being passionate. As of late though I have been very creative. I’ve been reminding myself to create regularly because alas that is why I am here. So I shall do the same with writing. Basically create the new habit. (How do I now trigger it?!) I do not like to ‘waste’ time. Writing into the void and noise of the internet can feel a futile act. Still, I know better. Even if the exercise is just for me, putting a vibe out matters in the larger scheme . Fini.

 

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forget it, no matter

under bus been thrown
by best of friend

but… no scars

rejected possibility
of
travel with
baggage, beneath the charter

destination met.
new, wardrobe in order

i left issues behind
to dry on line
shrivel up in sun
and crumble, to dust

particles,
blowing in wind
meeting rain

water droplets
puddle then
wash the past
away…

as they say
it’s all
water… under a structure built to span a valley, road, body of water, or other physical obstacle, for the purpose of providing passage over the obstacle.

gracious wiki

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a poem named ‘dis-comfort’…

things were fuzzy…
…warm

a bit floaty,

she asked a ?

i fell ten notches…

i sorta answered.
– silence

…climbed back up 5

getting warm again,
till she interrupted…

__________

dropped down 7even
heaven out of sight
clouds raining up

a broken conversation…

porcelain cracked,
destroyed the good china

now we eat off of paper plates

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