Writer’s block

My mind is overflowing. Splitting at the seams, my heart is sore, or soaring. I can’t stop jittering, I can’t pluck a thread to pull.

My cup is empty, my mind is blank. Everyone has cleared the room. I have so much to say; I can’t find the words to do them justice.

My mind is a stranger in the elevator, and we stand in an uncomfortable silence until one of us gets off.

I shift my feet wondering if I can open a door I’m too afraid to approach. Behind it, new worlds, promise, inspiration—or maybe just me, real and unflattering.

Thoughts that take too long to string together, that meander, absolutely lost, until accidentally stumbling on a point that resonates.