I flounder for words to say.
If I can't find the right words,
What do I say?
If I can't find the pen,
Where do I start?
If I make a blank slate,
What colour do I chose?
What brush?
What stroke?
Where?
When?
How?
Even if I find my words,
Can I say them?
Even if I find my thought,
Do I share it?
Even if I find what makes me happiest of all,
Can I do it?
Can I pursue it?
So I don't think, and just flounder.
trying to find the appropriate thing to say.
Even when I have-
And I have,
Can I let it go?
Can I share all my hopes and my dreams with the world?
So I don't.
I just flounder with words.
Trying to find my way.
~To any introvert. We have all felt this way.
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𝘐𝘯𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 || 𝘗𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘺
Poetryinfatuation (n.) (m.) being completely carried away by foolish love or affection The thoughts of my heart course through my brain like a raging river. They haunt me until I let them go. Down to the paper before they write themselves a story. One...
