Hours

We sit and talk for hours…
I like it so much, I write the transcript in my head…
Each misspelt word I autocorrect…
As we sit and talk for hours…

Her attempts to subjugate me with her story fades away and all I see is words. Each word forming a sentence, each sentence forming a paragraph, each paragraph forming a page, each page evolving into this transcript. I’ll read each thought with deep meaning and conclude with cliff notes. Bookmarking key points of our conversation so we can revisit later. I’ll paraphrase later. But now my time is spent analyzing each word. This process will take hours, until we visit a new conversation.

We sit and talk for hours…
I like it so much, I write the transcript in my head…
Each misspelt word I autocorrect…
As we sit and talk for hours… IMG_3285.JPG

The Topic… Unknown…

I hate moments when I can’t write. Topics escape me and I’m lost in the art of rant. I can’t write… I’m writing something to get this writers-block into blocks of writing. A writer needs to write. I’m a writer. I write about things, everyday things. Love, well the love that was, and the love that could be, and the love that might be. Sad parts in my life, again the sad parts I make bigger than life… The off the wall parties… Well the parties… O, the parties… I write about family issues, the wants and the self pity… The low confidence and the ego… The mixture of it all… The stalkers, the girlfriends, my attention to need attention… The rants that make cents, and senses… The lottery ticket that I let go… Or let me go… I still choose to believe I was robbed… The book deal… And my need for an advance, I need an advance, well the advance might get a 50 page book… And… O, the crook in this book, isn’t going to have a story if my writing stays blocked. It’s free writing until an idea sticks… In between all these lines my moments shine, dim light flow… Alright I go… My on the court, off the court, in the court stress, my Facebook quotes, my Facebook notes… My Instagram posts, those girls I wrote… Those Twitter posts… Those DM’s though… My often No’s… But my attention woes… The therapy sessions, broken into sections… The cops and the background checks, and the bail that was set… I sat there and watched a guy do a set. Then I remembered I never finished a set. The man next to me said your booty is mine next time. I looked around praying I wasn’t dark chocolate… My Uncle’s gay by the way… I couldn’t wrestle because that was viewed as gay… You know the positions… Well, society is more accepting of the lifestyle but we don’t want our children to be. I distress, yes I might have a topic… Equality for equal rights, wait they aren’t ready… Let’s not judge… I was raised in a God fearing church where adultery is forgivable… My dog Ace died when he was hit by a car, she won’t forgive me though, I hate Hondas now… My brother was there to hold me as I cried, ┬ásnot and all… I was a property manager, I was good, I hated it… My outlook on life; right is now wrong, and wrong isn’t viewed… ┬áMy signature flows… No ryme, no reason, no rap, I tap on the keyboard… Type away… Is this a poem flow? Spoken Word? One time in NYC, three drinks in and there was me.. I wrote you a love letter… Did you get the memo? Did I miss the memo? I did miss the memo… I can’t write, the creative writing classes… Pay more attention to the food you are injecting into your body… Sample Sentence though… Through it all I still have writers-block. The topic is still unknown…

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