Lately my poetic mind has been blank. I can sing out loud. Scream out loud And whisper to myself. 

Every word drips from my tongue and it sounds so wonderful. But with a pencil in hand those words seem to fly away carrying themselves in the air. Maybe those word's were meant for the sky. I remember when I would write poetry all the time. Sit there and scribble out the things that where seeping in my mind. It seems as if I have no longer been giving that gift. Maybe it is for the best. but that does not mean I will ever give up. I will keep a hard grip on the pencil. 

    I had a few journals and diaries full of all my old thoughts. But when our house was engulfed in flames most of them were lost. Do you think it is supposed to be that way? perhaps they weren't meant to go on longer then they did. I wish still that I could sit down as I often did while cleaning my room and instead get lost for hours in my old writings. <3

“I’m afraid I’ll be a book that no one reads. Music that no one listens to anymore. I’m afraid I’ll be abandoned like a movie playing in an empty theater.”

—

Tablo