Frustration

Deeply hidden in the back of my book

is where they’re all hidden where no one can look.

I get so FRUSTRATED

I haven’t a clue what to write-

fractured pieces of the thoughts lurk in my head every single night.

I am so afraid to pick up my pen-

or turn that crisp page,

because the moment I start I’ll be interminably engaged.

Once I begin, desperately I try to finish each piece,

vowing to somehow find my release.

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In the Waiting Line

Sometimes I feel like I’m in this long line, similar to that of a checkout line in the grocery store,but instead of waiting to make a purchase, each “customer” is waiting in line to receive his own special life assignment. And the whole time I am waiting, I am patient and I am cool because I know that when it’s my turn it’s going to be something great, something that I can execute. Something that I will enjoy. Something that I will be glad to have waited for. But then, suddenly as soon as it’s my turn to approach the cashier, it’s closing time.
I’m just waiting for the day that I make to the “cashier” before closing time. I feel like I am in close proximity to my destiny, but I need those directions from the “cashier” to finally make it there instead of just groping about in the dark.

I wonder if this makes sense to anyone else, if anyone can relate…

Of that I can’t be sure, but what I can be sure of is that one day it’s bound to be my turn. I will not have waited in vain.