If I write.
Figments of allegories that I have imagined,
Why run on my mind and never get tired?
I can’t find the right words so you are all wasted,
Like files in the flash drive that has been corrupted.
My ideas are always hunting me.
They are prisoners who wanted to be free.
Too bad, like me, they are shackled in chain.
As revenge, they’re driving me insane.
I really don’t know what’s happening.
In my mind they are all producing,
Exhorting me to put them in writing.
Difficulties are present for hindering.
In my abilities I am lacking,
With my insecurities I am hesitating.
My knowledge needs more reading.
And my meditation needs more comprehending.
So many reasons I’ve been telling
Yet I forgot the idea of trying.
The only thing that can stop me from doubting,
To hold my pen and start writing.