I am unable to find the time 

I am time poor.

I fill my time with aimless TV 

Watching and rewatching 

 

I claim I am too tired

Not in the right space to 

Either physically or psychologically 

The same way I make excuses not to run 

I’m just not in the mood. 

 

My mood changes when I do

I feel calmer and more connected. 

Not pushed off the surface of the earth

As if it helps my mental health 

Makes me more me. 

 

How can I call myself a writer when I don’t. 

Why is it that I can’t write all the time. 

I cannot force myself. 

Uncomfortable with the lies I think I am telling. 

 

Now I am here all I can do is write about wanting to write 

Fuck 

I want to write something poignant 

Instead I’m just a cliche. 

A writer who wants to write,

but finds she can’t.