I intend to write one thing and another is born.
Creativity rises.
It controls me, not the other way around.
The poem I’ve just written began with a feeling of being stuck. Stuck in COVID lockdown. Stuck in a middle ground of dried up creativity.
So I sat down. I opened my computer. And I saw a cupboard on the blank screen of my mind.
I was in there.
In a dark cupboard, looking out at something…a little brighter.
The story began from there.
But it wasn’t the story I’d expected. It was something different, not at all what I’d originally planned.
Isn’t
creativity
amazing?
It drives.
I am just here.
Allowing it to be what it chooses.
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