Today I feel like writing
So I am
Sparked by the embers of
Pure, potent talent
I want to let the ashes mark my skin
In the hopes some of you will seep in
I no longer take to pen
Instead I pound on the keys
Qwerty
Makes no sense
Wrists wince in pain
That old carpal tunnel I gained
Working years in front of these screens
Has given me bad knees
And wrists
And a back with twinge of knotted muscle
Right under my right shoulder
I stretch like I’m told to do
Via pamphlets on how not to
Get this way
But it doesn’t seem to help
So I sit up straight and write
Is it still called writing?
Type
Typing out whatever hits my brain
Searching for a rhythm within the words
Searching for a flow like hers
But not exactly
It’s nice to be inspired
Nice
Nice to know what you want
To peer into the tunnel and see the other side
And know where you need to be
It’s just the getting there
I’m always trying to get there
But the flames are in the way
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