The Effort of Creation

Part One

TW: Coarse language, existential crisis.
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Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap
My pencil on the page
Nothing happens
Tap tap tap
Scribble scribble
What exactly is that supposed to be?

Am I drawing or writing?
What exactly is going on with this piece of paper?
Who am I?
Do I have a face?
Is it framed with blond hair or mousy brown?
Are my eyes blue or are they black?
Is my skin pale from pallor or from nausea?

Ow. The graphite poked my skin
Or maybe I got a paper cut
Either way, working hurts

I study the paper
It's blank and white
Like a document on a screen so late at night
Somehow my writing becomes rhyme
Because I love to waste my time
Writing poems instead of working on stories

Where are my hands?
What are they doing?
I'm suddenly distracted by a body drifting through the air

My heart starts to glow with adoration and revulsion

Paper. The paper
It's blank and it's white
It's flat and two-sided
Or maybe just a very very thin rectangular prism?
Nothing in real life is really two-dimensional, is it?
At least I hope I'm not

My journal is crinkling
My grip is too tight
It's time to motherfucking write

What is my body?
Where do thoughts go when they're done thinking?
My head hurts, my brain hurts
I need to make something
I feel like I'm about to explode

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(To be continued)