jammns

Self-discipline? Is that what it is that keeps me coming back here?

At first it seemed a small promise to make to myself. I didn’t realize that it would turn into a chore.

How is that inspiration cannot be manually manipulated ?

Or is it OUTPUT? I can force myself to enter letters into a text box, but does that exhale any life?

Is there any POWER behind the words? How can they carry the weight of lofty ideals and hold the essence of humanity when they are being forcibly exuded into the world ?

There is no inspiration in the forcible squeezing of thoughts onto the page.

So, what is there to say? Everything. Like Whitman, I sing the body electric.

But today, I feel there’s barely a whispering…

I whisper a grounded song ; one that’s just a few lines long ; expressed quickly in these compressed times ; where barely have we found our voices and so swiftly our voyage is done.