This week has gone by impossibly fast, which I’m not complaining about. I still haven’t figured out how to tell myself to CHILL OUT. I’ve been stressing over every tiny thing, and now I don’t know where my week went. Which, as I said before, I’m not complaining about. It’s just freaking weird.
I can’t think of anything else to write, so here’s a spur-of-the-moment poem:
I put my pen to paper, but nothing comes around,
A mind swimming with half-baked ideas.
A hanging conversation waiting for my reply–
A dilemma I welcome.
I’ve been trying for nights to wring my brain,
Been lighting candles and drinking tea,
But nothing comes.
And again, he’s distracting me.
In five minutes, I know I’ll give up,
Give in to the words and the voice and the lips and the teeth–
A submission I welcome.
Unsubstantial topics arrive and hold no weight,
But there’s a meaning.
It’s the force that drives the words from him to me,
It’s the only part I care about.
Him to me, him and me, he and I–
A routine I welcome.