Waiting for the words to come
I fly through my brain a millions miles an hour, pulling on threads looking for a start
The beginning of a story, the shape of sentence, a kernel of an idea to explore
I find scraps, and half formed thoughts,
I find boring conversations with myself
I find the stuff that life is made of; the admin, the pain, the pleasure
All mixed together
I find the desire to curl up and go to sleep
To jump out of bed and head on adventure
All woven together, pulled in both directions or neither
I am coming and going all at once.
So I will sit and wait
For the words will come when they want to
And there is no point in me rushing them.