There is art here, hidden beneath unfinished words, and scratched out ideas.
Darting through off kilter tangents, it laces it’s way between your jumbled thoughts.
Like sand slipping through your fingers, reliably finding ways to
always break your grasp.
A never ending game of cat and mouse between you, and your words.
Dredging through murky layers of scrap, stand alone sentences, and fragmentary ideas, you defeatedly accept this creative stagnation, without ever acknowledging the art in the remnants you left behind.
Nevertheless, they bloom.
Once dormant, insignificant seeming discards, but at second glance, buds which need progression before being picked.
This growth, you find, is not something which can simply be willed to happen at once like you’ve tried to force so many times before.
This process of realization has taken you years,
but you’re finally starting to understand
that your best ideas need to be placed
in an oven, not a microwave.