On Writing (smaller picture)

Consistency

That is all it is

Showing up

Even when

You think your work is fucked

 

~But what does this writing do, this showing up, what is it trying to do.

 

Well I suppose I still love my work

My hands

My writing

Even on days like today,

But it feels today my work

Is more private

And needs to be kept close

To myself

For it not to be shared

With the broad world

Not to be taken from the notebook pages

Because I feel insecure

That it’s not breathing

That my words are a little

Strung up

Or out

But I suppose even on days

Such as those

It’s all just fingers

It’s all just toes

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