stuck in a rutt with my writing, ( and a little bit in general !) hoping this quick piece gets me out of that so i can begin to write peacefully again. (also that cat is me)
When I write, I often try to end with hope. Even in the dark, I reach for light- a line about trying,
about faith. But today, I won’t. Some days have no happy endings. You go to bed, and that’s it.
You let the day wash over you,then shut your miserable eyes. So this piece ends unhappily. And that’s that..
The hurt thumbs beneath my ribs,
low and steady.
Control slips away,
and there’s a want I cannot name-
sharp enough to leave its marks.
The days blur:
ink spilled thin on fragile paper.
The sun rises, relentless as ever,
says hello, then sets again.
I open my laptop, delete the same lines,
rewrite, then close it down.
It’s not that inspiration fails-
nor the hunger to create.
It’s the pressure to make something worth reading,
performing in an empty shower,
tearing out ruined sudoku pages-
each number lost to a restless mind,
left hand starting at #159, right at #170,
unfinished lines only for my eyes to see.
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