Lost By Rules

Sitting down with your thoughts and a new document, you know who you are. Is it dread? Perhaps excitement.

Are you the one who stares at white, waiting for the words that never come? Tick. Tick. Tick. You think you are alone. You are not.

Are you the one with creative anticipation, waiting to direct your thoughts? No rejection. Just you there to admire yourself. Is it selfish? Never.

But what happens in that next hour? A desperate vomit of words? A creative spew of expression? The next day? Anticipation. Often then regret. Never just right. The originality is lost. Lost by rules. Sentence structure. Paragraphs. Prompts.

Good? So they argue. It’s hard to discount. But imagination cannot be taught and so needs to be explored. Changing topics. Remember that paper? What is it now. Wrong punctuation? We can’t decide. Green line underneath? Ignore for now.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world

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