It’s an art-form in itself, I suppose. This need to scribble it all of the way down and from start-to-finish. Only, for me, the start is poem piece no. 1 and the finish will be.. I dunno 🤷‍♂️ But in-between those two things: it’s all about the experiences, the feelings. The mistakes.. the silly/stoopid mistakes and the undeniable sudden and unsuspecting bursts of brilliance. And, by that, what I mean is the people in your life, how they act, how they react, how they carry and control themselves. How they… stand proud-as-punch despite all, even if staring in the face of utterly absurd levels of adversity. There is no adversity. Not really. No nothing. Just words wound-up and people with their plagiarised personalities(impossible not to be) and characteristics.. just begging to be placed inside of the very next poem-piece. That’s it. That’s where the focus goes.. one-hundred-percent of the time all-of-the-time. Even when it doesn’t seem like it at all. You take one big deep Bastard of a Breath and you…. do it. Ten times faster than Nike says to do it. And twenty times better… fifty times more authentically and, definitely… a hundred times more emotionally. But you control that emotion. You react to it. And you certainly let it live like a big bad funny mother fucker who gauges everything at minutiae detail. Fast-paced at the pace of slow-motion, that’s it. You watch a storm hit the fan whilst you sit and dangle your legs at nothing of any much consequence. Because, in truth, I’d imagine that to be something akin to what a prisoner who’s just been freed after a lengthy, long-ass sentence behind the metal sticks might do. But what if you have no interest in the exact art form which you create via. 🤔 What if it’s utterly pompous and self-entangled and definitely… a snoozefest? You keeeeeep trying to change that exact thing until SOMEONE wakes the eff up