She spoke in rhythms and beats.
Edit and revise before she speaks.
Biting her tongue- a skilled technique.
Bold words gathered in her cheeks.
Strips and pieces of unsaid words.
Sharp and jagged edges of the unheard.
Spinning around her point steadily.
Casually clarifying its complexity.
And when that point meets her blank sheet
With rhythms sharper than what she can speak
She is grateful for all that she didn’t say.
For the ragged chips of unspoken decay
Create points that slide through locks and even cut through rock.
Her dearest remedy for writers block.
So Hushhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhould you try to Listen to her….
You might hear her pencil sharpener.