I know that I should be writing,
But I can’t.
Running thoughts block my head.
People can’t stop talking.
My head feels like it is going to explode.
I am waiting for the sweet silence of home.
Away from all the noise.
A place were my thoughts can escape onto a blank page.
I can let my head breath there.
Maybe. Maybe Not.
My head finds it funny when I can’t write.
Please just let my ideas flow!
I feel like a dammed river trying to break the hold.
It’s so hard and mentally tiring.
I want my hands to flow easily over the keys like they usually do.
Why cant I form any complete thoughts?
Random pieces of information that cant connect.
Two like ends of a magnet.
I feel like a closed book.
Not willing to open
and reveal what wonders it stores inside.
Shoved back into the bookcase.
Completely random thoughts buzz through my mind.
I want them to fit together like a puzzle.
All in the right place.
To create a whole.
Pieces of a puzzle,
Jumbled in the box.
Thousands of pieces lay strewn about.
Under the couch.
In my room.
Some remain in the box.
One piece can’t create a whole.