Musing – Writing

Again from October 2nd, 2016…

Writing poetry, in fact, any writing is a painful process for me.
It makes me see my whole being carved out very much flawed,
into an entity staring right at me with its claws of failures.
It sucks my blood out to turn me into a blue self,
dries my saliva and makes me barren like a dessert
my hands and feet turn ice cold
And my tongue goes into fits of spasm
And my eyes almost stop blinking
My lips quiver and whisper to my own self
I try to rest my chin on my fingers
only to bruise me with my unattended nails
And I write what I want to say
and not what people want to hear
and then when I am back in one piece
my imperfect taunted and confused self
I feel perfection in my imperfect snippets
And thus I write and write
for me and you
nobody else…