Faker.

I shredded my skateboard. What a faker. What’s your purpose. Write a song write a poem just write anything at all. Discover your inner voice: I keep eating vegetables that cause me to bloat. Yesterday you were writing about how it feels, how you feel. What will they say/ You need a story for a song/ and some music and some sort of theme. You need to clean your apartment. Put away the laundry. Cook that steak. Write about feeling sad and lonely. Or write about feeling happy and content by yourself walking down the street. Write about how A. makes you feel, you don’t even want to write it just in case someone sees. You’re so paranoid and untrusting. You keep writing about feelings etc, but in a very vague way, there is no imagery, which is what I enjoy most about poetry, how words can conjure up an image and then make you feel something about that image and the words that created them. Even when it’s just about inanimate objects. 

I caught the snow passing by the window and thought of you.

It floated free and slow, lazy and pure.

Suspended in time.

Then gone.

Like us.

There’s nothing left.

And nothing left to say.

I don’t feel anything.

For you.

Sometimes I wish I did

Just to remember what it’s like

To feel so lost.

I gave back all that I took

Till I had nothing left

And walked away.

 [perhaps if I had tried to write something artistic when I was going thru THAT time, it wouldn't have been so trying, I would have had lots to write about too. I would have felt something. Now I just feel numb]