It’s 6 a.m, and I’m…

Many miles down the road in a taxicab,
Riding along to work until things work;
Staring out the window, waiting for the sun
To rise, waiting for the sun to shine,
Waiting for the pain to die…
Suffocating because I’m holding my breath, feels like suicide.
Suffocating, will no longer hold my breath, waiting for fate to decide.
Me without you is breathing again, no more tears to cry.
You without me is a relief, no more need to lie…

Congratulations, we both win.

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Writing:

Can be so painful sometimes.

Especially when life takes your voice away. Writing a poem no longer feels like a skill or a hobby, it becomes a task. A life or death situation that no one can save you from but yourself, words just drift around your head space; tortuous banner, taking away any ability to relieve your stress.

I imagine that is what writers block feels for you as well?

Every once in a while I stare at my blog post drafts and sigh, what the hell is drying up my creative juices these days?

Oh well. I read somewhere that “If you can’t be a poet, be the poem.” So I will continue to live my life until a movement moves and then soothes me.