The words and feelings tumbling around in my head would flow onto the paper or screen to float away.
Tumbling around each other until they broke through
Poetry, so much poetry. Likely all bad.
Short stories, not as many, but still the words flowed out.
When that stopped I’m just not sure.
Did I stop having things to say?
Was I gliding along a stream until something snagged me and said “Pay attention to this?”
Sometimes I feel like I have
nothing to say
nothing to add
nothing of importance
Other days there is a thing
that has to be said
no matter what
regardless of importance
Trying to tell someone about something I find funny is an exercise in failure. The words aren’t always there. The description never can reveal what it is that made it funny.
Are these words just tumbling, rumbling, clogging
in my body
in my head
in my hands
waiting for something to release them?
Where will they go? What will they do if they continue rattling around?