Thursday, June 2, 2011


penned Friday, May 20, 2011
Have you ever sat down to pen something and felt so incredibly inarticulate that you just gave up writing?
I wonder sometimes why - with all the vocabulary jammed in my head from years of school and reading - I find myself at a loss.
There is Silence, deafening silence that crushes hopes of freeing thoughts that if contained, torture.
The blank page, or screen these days, likes to taunt and tease. A sort of 'ha! I've got you stumped, clueless, defenseless against my powers to block expressions.'
I long for a way to release what is pent up in my head - that which swirls around ferociously in my subconscious and peaks out momentarily like a lightening strikes in my dreams. Perhaps there is no escape to be found in tossing out misshapen shards of partially formed... nothings.
If shared, will they come together in absolute clarity like one of those 1000 piece puzzles made of pointalist paintings that only reveals itself when viewed whole and from a distance?
This is my plight.
A flawless page, a blinking cursor on pristine screen.
And I fear that if nothing ever tarnished this canvas, I'll forever be nagged by what if.
Somehow there must be a legacy of words to leave behind when my voice can no longer be heard.

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