The nugget of something Is there But in the act of putting it on the page It disappears
No flare of wit or will Nothing to separate Me From all the other people struggling to take bits of language and string them together in a way that is meaningful
Wavering in the face of the need to be Decisive Shadowed by all those Names and Ideas and Prose that people Praise
Writer’s block Is simply the scorn of myself Nothing that can’t be seen In a mirror
The wall that rises up Is my own self-doubt Laughing at the preposterous notion That I could ever be a writer
This is truly the enemy to my writing this week! Whatever you do, don’t let your own self-doubt or lack of belief hold you back. We all start somewhere.
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