A lot.

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
          my angst,
          my sadness,
          my fear,
          my yearning.

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
          or interest

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?