Might Be Time To Park My Pen

Each time I attempt to write a tale
A paralyzingly doubt comes over me
Are there more stories to tell
Why would anyone want to hear it from me

I lay awake at night
Thoughts chasing each other
Reviewing what I have written so far
All of them rubbish
not worth anybody’s time

There is one half written novel
Of two friends cruel to each other
In my mind I reviewed the first chapter
And cringed at the sentimentality
Soaking the first paragraph

The male protagonist’s characterization is so wrong
For a reticent man why did I make him squeeze
The heroine’s arm every so often?

And why did Abigail, the narrator of the story
Sounds like a walking Wikipedia
Every time she offers an information
About a place with historical significance?

What is even the point I was trying to make
With this coming of age story?
That even the smartest man will always
Pick a pretty face over an intelligent mind?

If I really think about it
That is not always true
Though not short of suitors
It can also be difficult for a pretty girl
To find a love that is true

Either I re write the whole damned thing
Or it is ending in the bin

Letting The Mind Rest When It Is Due

The mind was in overdrive, now depleted, words lost their meanings and would not string together to make sense.

Staring blankly at the pristine screen deciding against smearing it with inanity.

Letting the mind rest for now, renewing and soothed by nature’s refreshing dew.

Shutting it off momentarily letting the heart take the lead, letting the limbs dance.

Being dumb and carefree for a while perhaps there will be plenty of things to write about after that.

©JMKhapra