ARCHIVE: Freewriting 2.27.23

originally published Feb, 27th, 2023

I am not looking at the time.

the storm passes overhead
rain batters roof and windows
the damp air is cold
smells of musty earthworms and
rotted leaves
I sing a song under the noise

— — —

is this what it means to fill a page?
perhaps all that flows from me
is not genius
not actually for anyone other than myself
is that okay?
I know its necessary

something wild stirs
affects me beyond words
is this enough yet?

perhaps I write
innumerable fragments
am I not also fragmented?
finding whole

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