Dropping Ear Buds

I’m awake

Spot, click, open eyes, something dropped to the floor, I’m sure, it made noise that forced my head to react,  I realize it’s just ear buds that hit the ground

Sitting on the nightstand from the hours before when I listened to the notes and read my lore, a stoy of history that someone else had set to song

Such talent to grace empty spaces of pages and ages without missing one beat or conceding defeat and chucking the whole project into obscurity, such clarity

Sheds light on my own tenacity, the veracity of my destiny to tell me that this is what I must do, pursue it is a must, this object of literary lust that consumes

My every thought and my every endeavor, I will never not seek the truth I spin with clever words of rhyme and meaning, these feelings that I spread like wildfire across the screens of many an electronic

The sonic boom of my mind finding force in the gravity of my desperate attempt to be heard, concerned, my voice won’t find echo before my soul decides to go to places where perhaps I might never see the light or have the chance to write (again)

This haunts me more than this art never taking flight, my plight, my goal, my mission, I rendered submission long ago before I admired the prose of so many before me and and after me 

Frustration this perpetual is essential and directly proportional to the rations of ambition that line my words with the contrition of confession, a lesson for my mortal coil that I must toil and soil my hands with the blood of an ink that constantly reprimands and demands notoriety

Sobriety is getting harder to face when faced with the reality of such normalcy and grace, it should be enough, but how is enough ever enough, how does the mere rough cut suffice, when we want to draw all we can from life all the while smoothing out the edges of this wedge God put here on earth

I want my turn, I want to be heard, I want to turn the pages of my signature book and look upon the face of someone who will quote my words, I want to be remembered while I am still alive so I can thrive and derive the pleasure of this so sweet fruit I crave

So I pick up the ear buds from the floor and cram my ears with melodic noise and I make the choice to score out the dirty laundry in my head, beats of longing so symphonic I would need an orchestra’s harmony to respond to it

And so I write with the frantic delivery of the thirty minute pizza man, forging toward a destination that has no direction but elation, heart beats that find life in the finished product from my aqueduct of thought, brought forth from an awakening too abruptly introduced by the foreign sounds that dropping ear buds entered into my brain

I remain…



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