but words refuse to flow, refuse to trail. and this is bad, so very bad. i need my creative writing juices now, more than ever. a feature is due this week, then three midterms, all involving short essay type questions, then an essay the following week, and it never stops. never.
and every time i read all your words i rage at beautiful they are, and i kick myself for how i can't keep up with the joneses, how there is no poetry to my thinking, how the ideas can't be strung together in a nice, flowy wave, only in sporadic jittery scribbles. it's so logical up there and then verbal diarrhea down here. i throw all the jigsaw puzzle pieces in the air, some falling deep into the nooks and crannies of the sofa, and i don't care anyway, because i know i'd never be complete even if i tried.
no metaphor can save me now.
if there is truth i don't want to hear it.
i am tired, but as captain of this ship i must find land.
