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The Block...And so I write

I am broken again. I say that in way which does not relate to my emotional or physical state of being, solely to the way in which I offer all these thoughts of mine to whoever it is that reads them here. I cannot write. I have heard that in those moments when you cannot write, you must write because that is the only way to get yourself past that phase. I also heard a poet on Def Poetry who says he writes when he doesn't want to so he can get out the shit he doesn't know is inside of him...And so I write.

I fill this space with words that mean nothing to me at the moment. There are several important things going on in my life which I could tell you all about but to say them at right now, not knowing how to convey them with the emotional content that has collected around them, would not do them justice and so I write.

I write because I want to scream out. I want to stand outside and let all the wrongs wash away with the moving wind. And when I want to do that I write, I get it out, I let it fall onto the page, and it is done. And so I write.

I write because I know what I want right now. At this exact moment I know where I want to be, what I want to have, and who I want to be there with while having those things. But I can't do that justice. I can't make my head connect to my hands to create something new and significant, and so I write.

I write, and I write, and these words will fill up this page until this calibration is complete and the alignment has been done and all that I have to give is everything that I have to give and THAT IS WHY I WRITE.

I write because I want to try one more time but I don't have it within me. I write because I'm so afraid that I'm not making you understand. I write because you should be here. I write because it's been awhile, and there is so much you haven't seen. I write because I need you to do better. I write because you keep hiding in a shadow which is less than you could ever be.

I write, and I write, and I write. My hands grow tired, my words grow bare, but I write, and I write, and I write. I write for all the things that I have yet to create. I write for all the moments which have yet to be forgotten, which have yet to be remembered by looking to my words. I write for my present, and my past, and the future which is waiting so patiently ahead.

And I write.

**fiReFly**

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