The other day I tried to write a poem. It didn’t go very well. I was trying very hard and it just wasn’t coming out. I then tried writing a simple story; nothing fancy, just some words put together on paper. And as the ink flowed from my pen, words became sentences and sentences started to makethe story.

As fast as I began writing as fast I ran out of words. I was filled with emotions, feelings, thoughts and ideas but not words. I scratched everything and started to write about feelings. It started well, coherent stuff; clear and concise. But, alas, it fell short as well.

My feelings are a big mess. Not in a bad way. They just are… Messy and complicated (ugh, I hate that word)… not complicated, complex. Yes, that’s it. They are a pure mixture of a lot of stuff that comes from everywhere. It’s like a big blender mixing everything up; happyness, sadness, madness, you name it, they’re all in there.

I do let everything out once every now and then. Probably not often enough. And then again, I do what my gut tells me to.

I’m told a lot of what I should do. Stuff that I need to do to achieve some future objective. And what if I don’t want to do that? Is that the only path to whatever objective I set? No, I refuse to believe that.

“When the body speaks
All else is hollow”