Looking outside again
I find myself looking outside again,
outwards into the world
for words to describe what I feel,
What I want to express.
After a flurry of searching, of grasping
At the voices of others,
The articulation, the timbre, the pace,
I stop –
Why others? Why not me?
Surely I can pluck the words
Ripe from the branching neurons
of my blooming mind-orchard?
Am I not best suited to tease
The sparks breaching my subconscious
Higher into the light,
to sculpt and mould them into
The form of my fancy?
I don’t need to go outside to play.