I wish I could feel poetry. Seems everything I write now is stilted. Or maybe stale is the better word. I can’t find my rhythm even in the simple spelling of a word. I just struggled with rhythm for nearly the last minute. If I can’t spell how can I write. And now that sounds like making an excuse. I try to make sense of the things I say and do, and even hearing that phrase makes me think of people, and how we operate. Here I am writing a public plea for help finding my writing, and even these words seem to not make sense. But, there is an easy solution. That is, understanding that words design the idea, the success in our lives.
I guess what I am trying to say, I get confused about my writing sometimes, and I wonder if I am on track with an idea, or inside a complete chaos with my words. So there I did it again, lost the idea I was searching for. And that’s where the chaos settles in and I cannot frame a stream of thought. But what does that mean, because in here I’m actually talking about it, and that is the end goal. It is something to do with being present. I was once something about love.
There it is then, help me find the words.