Rummaging for Words

Writing poetry is rummaging through a junk drawer filled with ideas, thoughts, emotions disjointed broken sentences tangle twisting knotting around fingers digging digging digging for that one image resonating so bright that you find yourself wrist deep at midnight scribbling scribbling it out but writing poetry is rummaging for that one word that would fix every sentence the one puzzle piece hiding in the corner tucked under insomnia and exhaustion almost an obsession an addiction that follows the curve and slant of each letter until you are shaking curled up in the floor unable to remember how you go here drowning in your own thoughts while words break apart and collide melding melding melding into this mosaic trapped behind my eyes because writing poetry is rummaging for some understanding in a world of dead ends and blank expressions lingering while you are searching for a right turn in a world of left left behind left over left whispering your thoughts through cracked lips spinning spinning spinning is the world as you curl up shaking and sweating when did writing become this addiction where you are constantly struggling to find the right concept or image or vowel to free you from this self-imposed cage rattling rattling in the back of your head and all you can do is keep digging digging digging with broken jagged nails clicking your tongue frantically repeating every thought for writing poetry is rummaging through a junk drawer late at night trying to find that one word that could fix everything

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