even with my eyes sown shut from busy,
in a dark room of tired,
with the shades drawn over the mirror,
i can still see my reflection.
a writer not writing . . .
not with any purpose, or drive, or como se dice . . . “gumption?”
i see a million words and no sentences,
all pomp, no circumstance.
they float nearby but never land, probably for lack of trying.
and i keep posting pictures of my clothes.
and i’m saying it’s okay.
and i’m taking off the pressure, letting off the brakes.
i’ll just keep the water running,
let the kinks out of the hose,
let the well fill up ’til there’s a second free to sneak
out the back door,
barefoot down the stairs,
to dive deep down the narrow dark and slow float back to the surface,
to let the light in . . .
i’m heading to blissdom this week to talk about writing and blogging and (yes also) clothes with some of the smartest people on the internet. maybe they’ll have some answers for my writer not writing condition,
maybe you do?
follow the writing conversation on twitter at #writingbliss through the weekend!