Anything

Today I want to write, but I don’t know what to write about.

I sit here and think, then just decide to start.

I write about what is on my mind: not being able to write.

Things flow in circles, the not being able to write.

I remember the praise from my teachers when I finally succeeded.

I remember my mom, not giving a damn.

I think there’s something inside me that knows who I am.

So far I can’t write, but I don’t give a damn.

I write for myself, not someone else.

I am not a writer, there is nothing to rely upon.

I write what I want, whether it is good or gone.

Eventually my head runs out of ideas and my heart starts to think.

That is when real things start happening; when my brain collapses and all I can feel is my soul.

That is when I write for me, instead of the entire world.

I write in rage or in wonder.

I write of seas and I write of plunder.

Then, suddenly I am surprised when I can’t write anymore.

But I keep going because that’s what life is for.