I.

there are threads of ideas waiting to be tied together

there are stories de varios colores jugosos to be drawn out

there is an abstract block that hides something in it

it's all puzzle pieces, things in the cranial space, like atoms, they can't touch

but come together in the physical realm to create a vision

my pen is the needle my pen is the brush my pen is the chisel my pen is the hand that touches

these pieces and brings them together

sowing words into sentences

painting imagery on lined canvases

scratching out and removing the rubble

until what is left is more precise and better

put together than what i had thought of first

i write to find release from a hyper active mind

energy that starts with an idea which rolls into more ideas which

snowball

and i become consumed by it all if it's not written down

II.

the problem is i don't

write as much as i should

no dates no name and phone numbers

no records no, because I'm too busy picturing all these other things i could

be writing, all these other things i could be doing all these other things i could be

looking into

but i'm not

because i'm

overwhelmed

by it all and it's all so cluttery and messy and disorganized and have you ever

seen a clean room? it seems bigger doesn't it?

like you have room to breathe

my pen is the hand that picks up the pieces whenever i decide to

clean

my room

and i should really write more because when my room becomes clean

and not cluttered from holding so much together

i can breathe