When I read
What others have written
I am impressed and amazed
with the way
the words they write all flow
like a beautiful and raging river
and fit perfectly together like the
pieces of a puzzle to create a
greater more powerful and meaningful
work of art.
And when I write
the words are there, stuck in my
throat as I try to force them up
and when they do come, it is
like vomiting up a jumbled mess of
words that must be carefully
sorted into sensible and meaningful
sentences which always seem, to be
missing something, like a flower that
has dropped one of its petals or
an ant who has had a leg
ripped off by a schoolboy
because my writing is fine
it’s just not complete
not fully there and not perfect
and symmetrical, it’s only
decent
