Posted: May 17, 2015 in heart-to-hearts, poems, Poetry
Tags: ,

She can feel the beginnings of a nasty headache, steadily creeping in from the base of her neck, meandering excitedly into her overworked brain-she feels it traipsing it’s arrogant gait around the toughened walls of her skull, completely ready to thump at her unfortunate head over and over until she can’t function anymore. Until her brain refuses to think up plots and similes and expressions and locations.
But- these pages must show. These currently blank pages must fill up right before her tired eyes.
It’s an expected struggle between her brain and her hands.
Like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, her brain is sulking-it’s white matter and it’s veins and nerves and arteries are all struck numb.
“No, we won’t think up more stuff for you, ”
“No, you can’t write tonight, ”
“It’s late you need to sleep. WE need to sleep,
But her hands rebel against her rebellious brain as she stares down at her blank pages.
Scribbling unintelligible words, she can feel the development of a plot.
Tonight, a new love poem will grace the earth,
Tomorrow, if her brain behaves, it might be a short story set in ancient Egypt, she doesn’t know-she can’t rely on her brain,
Sometimes he rebells for months, guffawing stupidly as she sits and stares at her invisible pages,
Sometimes she hears him whispering that it’s not his fault that she can’t write-why is she blaming him, he asks-
She doesn’t have an appropriate answer to his question,
So there she is, impatiently waiting for her brain to come back from his long vacation,
For these pages must show.


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