As a writer, the starting part is the scariest.
The moment when you wield your pen
with your fingers. Too eager to defile---
a blank virgin canvass.
Too eager to make a difference and yet,
The responsibility scares me.
The myriad combination of lines,
The mixture of letters,
The weaving of words,
And the colouring of it with a tad of intellect...
The creativity scares me.
The unreachable zenith of thoughts,
and how to display it
Should I keep some of the birds in their cages?
Or should I chop all their heads off?
The freedom scares me.
My mind birthing questions:
Will it turn out great?
Will my ego be satisfied after it was streaked?
Or, will I crumple its ideas to death?
These questions scare me.
All of these thoughts …
My mind flashes upon the millisecond
my fingers aim the ink-filled pen.
And, I haven’t written anything yet.