Some days, I wake up with a belly full of words,
Imagining each one altering a fraction of the world,
like powerful threads,
They embroider through the rigid fabric,
transforming each and every.
Such powerful words
Some days, I wake up
finding my words ineffective even against my own mind,
The very structure that birthed them.
They stare back,
asking if they’ll ever come to life.
Such futile words
But I sit at my desk,
and continue conjuring them,
like winding yarn around my thumb,
Stabbing nibs in the paper
and grinding spilled snacks under the keys.
Such hopeful words