re-lacing.

writing.

it used to be carved into my soul.
i thought about it, with every waking
moment.
i would think in verse,
talk in metaphors.
whilst my hand guided the pen
i would see the words as an abundance
of untouched, damp sand
and i would sculpt it,
mould it,
shape it,
into something i could understand.
my small masterpiece.

now,
my confidence in
what i create
has gone.

now,
nothing makes sense.
feelings buried under
debris and doubt.
words don't come naturally
anymore.

the pressure ensnared me
i am stuck.

so forgive me, if it takes a while
for my libido for language
to return,
summon my strength
to re-lace the bonds,
so personal, the link between
oneself, and the written word.

i'll try my best.
bear with me.