I wish I was the kind of person
That could write as beautifully
As the midnight sky
Or your eyes
Some days
I have so many ideas
I can write
and write
Till my pen runs out
Or my arm gets tired
Or I run out of paper
And start to write in books
I’ve read
Too many times
Then there are days when,
my mind is full
But there are no ideas.
No motivation
Just loud voices,
A mess of thoughts
Most of them aren’t even my own
(Maybe I shouldn’t say that
Someone might think I’m crazy)
Just because someone’s mind is
Thought ridden
Doesn’t mean they will turn it
Into art
I think if they did
Someone might get hurt
Writing
It’s dangerous
Not just to an author
But also to everyone else
around them
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 5:30 PM UTC
I wish I was the kind of person
That could write as beautifully
As the midnight sky
Or your eyes
Some days
I have so many ideas
I can write
and write
Till my pen runs out
Or my arm gets tired
Or I run out of paper
And start to write in books
I’ve read
Too many times
Then there are days when,
my mind is full
But there are no ideas.
No motivation
Just loud voices,
A mess of thoughts
Most of them aren’t even my own
(Maybe I shouldn’t say that
Someone might think I’m crazy)
Just because someone’s mind is
Thought ridden
Doesn’t mean they will turn it
Into art
I think if they did
Someone might get hurt
Writing
It’s dangerous
Not just to an author
But also to everyone else
around them
