Let’s start the year off with writer’s block. It’s usual a blessing in disguise because if I wasn’t questioning my ability to write before, then I sure am now. It’s not as bad as it was though – for a solid month now I haven’t been able to really get anything on paper that I liked. I didn’t want to share or post pieces I didn’t enjoy on the premise nobody probably would enjoy them. I’ve a lot of editing ahead of me, that’s for sure.
Nothing quite flows easily tonight
But everything comes to together
In time, in tired, long awaited time.
Whether it’s weaving or writing,
Art begins first as a dream, drawn out
It becomes something a little more-
But also something a little less perfect than
The dream it originally was dreamed,
Such is reality with all its law abiding imperfections.
I’ve got stories in my head, pictures in my eyes,
And yet I cannot get it just right in the moment
My pencil touches down, and it’s more than frustrating.
The simple amount of time it takes
Almost isn’t worth it, a skill of endless possibilities
Taking endless patience and more than endless practice.
It feels unfair, because it feels just right there
On the tips of my fingers and tongue, waiting for me
To do something with it other than spend long nights blankly.
If you like my writing please check out my book Moth-Like. It can be bought on Amazon here.