On my Sunday seat, I do, write

“There is always, time to write” Gun Roswell

On my Sunday seat, I do, write

“I am writing, I am writing, I am so totally writing!”

This, is the mantra, I am, always reciting
But, it so damned hard, as my mind is against me fighting
Always, telling me, the supposed truth, without smiling:

“Your writing, is not very good, now is it, so why are you yourself lying?”

“But, but, some people, like it, they even say so!” I hear myself defending

“That is just cosmetic”, the brain says, knowingly, “a social media bullshit type thing.”

“No, you are so wrong!” I hear myself whispering, but the defeat, steps in

And then, all I can do, is to, stop, my writing
So, now, I am sitting in my hard seat, and, I am crying
Thinking, through my tears, why even bother trying

“Defeat your inner saboteur, and you can accomplish everything”

A quote in a very wise book, as I decided on reading
Instead, as I am no longer, the writer I thought, but, feeling
The strong urge to get back there, and, yes, start typing

After some time, on my own, me and my mind, contemplating
I have moved back to the comfortable seat, and slowly starting
Again, my fingers, running through the keys, and soon enough, I am writing

Nightmares of Who I Am

“Who am I and why am I here? Has just become my greatest fear.” Mohit.K.Misra

Nightmares of Who I Am

Do I have anxieties?
What am I afraid of?
What is my worst fear?
What do I worry about?
Who am I scared of?

If you won’t ask me
I will never tell you
I prefer it that way
Staying anonymous, hidden
An enigma, never written

I’m not special
But I am different
I’m not ordinary
I am distinctive
Im not complicated
I am plain difficult

To your question
“Tell me about your childhood”
Without any hesitation
I say
You misunderstood
I get out

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