Sitting here staring at blank pages, the words won’t come to me as they once did. Thoughts, stories and poems float through my consciousness but not making the fight to reality. For now they hide from the world protected from the harsh realities and the fakeness that surrounds me. They will not appear; putting ink to paper will not do them justice.
Instead my minds clustered with mixed emotions, half finished stories and broken thoughts of what could be, what once was and what never will be.
My ideas come in waves, taking over my body, my soul until they are released to make their powerful mark in the minds of readers? Nothingness follows, empty and drained. Wanting nothing more than to produce works of art.
Here I stand starring at a brick wall that has no top. There is no way to get around, no way over. I am stuck with the difficulties of my actions, my words and my thoughts, only smashing down the barrier when the time is right.
Bare and bloody hands bash through the brick, through the cement, through my thoughts and my images of a life that has so many ups and downs. Each hill and valley taking a little more than the one before.
I know what must be done, but my strength is not here yet. I wait patiently as I have before. Holding on to words, unspoken actions and the idea of what could be. Unveiling myself when the time is right, waiting for the moment.