blank page

white screen,
blinking cursor.

white dotted line,
hovering pen.

one letter after the other,
one syllable follows another,
rhyming isn’t my rhythm
I tend to clap on the off-beat
I prefer the feat of clever rhyming,
clapping in-between the beat.

it’s unexpected,
tripping up the stairs,
like tripping over your own words,
but you reorganize your sentences,
you put your pen to paper,
your fingers to the keyboard,
you pick yourself back up again

one letter after the other.


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