Often I do not feel much like writing
my mind is cluttered with teenage angst
and childish disagreements and the
phrase ‘smells like teen spirit’ springs
to mind when I’ve worn the same pyjama
shirt for three days straight because
I’ve been spending all my time anywhere
but this world in front of me.
So I write about not writing in a
paradoxical trance and I breathe
without inhaling, contemplate
without thinking whilst the cosmos
in my mind swirls in graceful
pirouettes but I am still and afraid.