Tag Archives: words

No Name

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I’d rather have no name, than never know what it’s like to let you see into my soul. 
The leap of faith I’d take blindly, just so you’d latch on to every tale I’ve ever told. 

Of my name I’d beg to be stripped, 
if I could ever see my own thoughts in print.

On the dusty decrepit shelf of the bookstore, I don’t care,
just bind my scripts in lily-white sheets, where I’ve laid out my spirit bare.

I’d hope you dissect and ridicule every letter marked in ink.
Because without my musings I’d just further sink,

into a whirlpool of creations itching to get out, 
of this skin and bones where no one can hear them shout.

I’d choose being nothing but a mere no-name to you, over never falling in love with words.
If only by the world, mine could finally be heard.

Please, give this no-name a chance, 
and I’ll fight as if every move is my last dance. 

I pretend I don’t but I do, 
so badly just want to be something to you.

I’m not after fame,
yet I’d do whatever it takes, all for a stranger to know my name.

Writer’s Block

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Her mind is blank, but if these walls could talk for her, only then might you fathom the extent of her suffering. In the dead of night, they watch as she wakes gasping for air as if a cinder block has come crashing down onto her chest. While on solid ground she’s falling, losing her grip by the second, slipping farther while her aching fingertips are desperately trying to hold on.

Wandering aimlessly, she hasn’t a clue what she’s searching for. She’s trapped in a mirror maze of pure nothingness, accompanied only by several of her own helpless reflections staring back at her. She scours every corner, but amidst the flashing lights she’s lost all sense of direction.

The walls of this glass box she’s in cave, and through the thickening air she screams, yet nobody can hear her. All that’s on the tip of her tongue is the saltiness of her tears. She’s tormented by the the deafening silence inside her head.

What a beautiful tragedy it is for a writer’s heart to carve its own wounds. She lies awake on nights like these, tossing and turning, listening for distant murmurs. The closer they get, the clearer they sound and she can begin to slowly stitch her heart back together.

She remains restless until her heart is woven by the strings of all the words she’s for so long been trying to find. The mere presence of a single thought reinvigorates her entire being. At last she can breathe again.

~~~

As this final day of August was nearing, I feared I had nothing to say. I was experiencing the most intensely horrifying feeling any writer could have: writer’s block. I always thought there was no feasible way to put in to words the feeling of not knowing what to write about, as someone it should come so easily to. But, I thought, what if there was? And so, as I lay restless in bed one late night, I typed a list of words to describe all that I was feeling: panic, confusion, frustration, and so on. In doing so, suddenly my mind was filled with constellations of letters forming all the right words to give you this melodramatic tale.