Process

Driving down the street
People, places seem so neat
I don't know them
They don't know
An introduction starts to show
They don't know me; unaware
Of the weird-ass stories I could share
Do they want to hear
Or will they fear
This creature's
Half-baked speeches?
No form, no order
No boundaries; no borders
What I do and say
Drives me through the day
When I write
I sometimes fight
At home, alone, behind closed doors
The scripting process is rarely a chore
It's a practice that I preach
Not an easy one I could teach
Blank screens or papers
Encourage my capers
But sometimes mock me
As I struggle to break free
Of thoughts so cloudy
Eventually words flow
But not everyone knows
If when or where the next line
Will weave their thoughts with mine

©Tim Whalen