I didn’t write yesterday even though I tried.
My morning filled my time and the night brought me no words.
Instead I pondered the idea of writing for someone else and how that could be.
I want to make money off writing yet I do it as if it were a chore and cry at those who actually thrive.
It’s Tuesday and I’m on my way to work.
And as the work load begins to pile on I sit in anxiousness counting my dollars and bills.
To fear is to not have faith in God, I continously remind myself.
So I pray,
and leave the candles burning while I sleep because only a few things scare me and it seems as if burning alive isn’t one of them.
And I hope I become a good writer.
And I wish for My Love’s wellbeing and serenity.
And I wonder what to do next—
watching my work pile high,
watching shows that have no matter counting the seconds on the clock as I drift into slumber while my heart pounds to the ticking reminding me of all the things that could be done and instead I sit and try to breathe–try to forget–try to..
I gotta do something,
So for now, I’m on my way to work.
And I’m thinking of writing and how I wish I wrote more.
And how there’s much to do.
And how I don’t know how I’ll get by sometimes.
And I look at My Love because he’s so sweet. And gentle.
And he calms my mind. And shows me love. And I wish,
we can just go already.
*late publish, sorry!*