I don’t know what to write about.

Inspiration alludes me.

Bound by the pressure of perfection, I strangle my words, and suffocate my talent.

Thought process caught up in the unnerving cycle as I tell myself, I can’t write if it’s not post worthy, and nothing is post worthy if I don’t write.

So I sit here silently, staring at the blank screen closing and reopening all my apps, trying to trick my muse back to me.

They tell me you have to write the bad words out. You have the let the cringe of your talent flow, before you get to the gold.

But I have always been inpatient in nature. Never willing to wait, I leapt into bad decisions simply because they gave me the option of now.

So I will write, even when I don’t have a clue what to write about. Because words are my calling, because I ache to share.

And maybe one day inspiration will not allude me, and maybe one day I will find the muse within me.