not a writer but sometimes I like what comes out

my head is filled with things to say… and then I sit down to get them out

not a thing there. nothing flowing from my fingertips.

like the thoughts that are composed have the shortest life shelf imagineable.

like the keyboard is a giant auditorium of faces I’ve never seen + cat’s got my tongue

the whiteboard whiped clean

staring at a sheet of paper or the keyboard

trying to push thoughts- unauthentic

nothing seems authentic enough and then I remember that they’re my words so how could they not be

it’s still a block

does it make sense?

do they get it?

moving on….