BREAKTHROUGH

Everything has to be perfect.

Remember when you would tidy your room to within an inch of its life before opening up that text book to revise?

I’m like that before I start penning verses.

Pencils and pens, sharpened and new, in a pot on the side of the desk rearranged for the ritual.

Refill pads with the tight-red-lines, feng shui, check all of the angles…

Only then do I start writing prose;

Or annotating the notes I amass on my phone from the underground train journey home.

On this world and its wonderful ways.

On this world and the pain I accrue.

From last night on that twilight drive to those days spent hunched in the lunch queue.

What a wonderful view.

Gold and blue

And summer skies

And hot and cold

And life and death

And everything it comes to me.

The universe in different hues.

Way better now than good as new.

And I cannot see the edges like a pitch black cave, it’s a limitlessness I crave to career through.

Confessing and undressing and jumping out and drying off and plunging in once more and if you listen, well, this can all be yours too.

-

If you ask me what I’m fighting for; I fight for the right to extend and influence time.

And propel myself way beyond the place they believed I would stay way back in the day...

...when I only connected with the lessons I liked.

And grow. Outward and in. And spread love to my fans and my friends and my family fighting for me and the fact that, in this world, it grows ever-trickier to justify these idle pursuits and labours of love that do not pay my bills

and make me lose my way and make me act the fool and make me feel invincible,

like i’m ten feet tall.

From the darkest days of the world to the farthest echelons.

From the brightest dawn of the year to the breakthrough on the train right home.

To the command Z’s, command Z’s, the command Z’s; the totally perplexing redirections, the eventual revelation next to the waste paper basket of undos.

redo

undo

redo

undo

(one hour later)

that'll do.