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Dec 2010
I’ve had trouble writing
all throughout this trip

you’d think in London,
an unfamiliar and
wild place,
I would find inspiration
in everything
but alas,
I have found
none

writing has become so integral
to my life
that I sense changes,
in myself,
when I cannot make
them

a man puts a bag above me
my sister twiddles her thumbs
women too old or too pretty for me are everywhere
but two perfect ones are in the next section up
my hand writing is messy
it’s warm in here
it’ll be cold at 30,000 feet

why can’t I write
about all of that?

I get angry
or
annoying
when I can’t
write

I sometimes put bars on my I’s
sometimes not

I tell everyone else my thoughts

my friends, my family,
my mom, my dad, my
sister, my hobo on the
street, my anything else
but the page

yet the page is the only one that doesn’t go
“shush”

a lady texts
someone was working below the toilet
I’ve got a **** week ahead
the exit sign is interesting to me
my music speaks to me too much now a days

I feel better

the ink on the page smiles at me
Overwhelmed
Written by
Overwhelmed
690
 
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