Creative writing is a skill that for whatever reason I’ve had buried deep within me, perhaps it’s all too depressing that I find myself locking away thoughts, feelings, experiences, only to find they are of the utmost importance, because it won’t just be me that feels them…
It’s true there are times when picking up a pen, spilling thoughts onto pages feels tiresome, a chore, something I’d rather not do, until that is, I do it.
I don’t feel like writing
The grasp of an instrument a tool if you will
The ache of the wrist, the fingers, the tips
Moving upwards and downwards and upwards and downwards
The spluttering of ink barely keeping up to the chaos that screams from within
I look on with chaotic scrutiny
The words do not stop just because there’s no receiver
They keep on falling and falling and falling and falling so much that I cannot breathe shallow breaths I tell myself to stop
The words fall apart from the seams searching for a way out
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