Very Prose, Very Awkward

so I haven’t written in a long time. I feel like a phony- out of touch. A fake. Bogus. Destructive. Like a Bull in a China shop. Oh wait, there, I used an idiom. Not far from the bulls eye; on point. Oh look now a pun. I guess that was a little fun. Now I have used rhyme. In each part; syllables, of three. I introduced a rhythm. One two three, one two three. A dancer with three feet. Her body swayed with the changing meter. What did they call it? Tercet. I have ryhmed in prose. If this was bad, it does get worse. I suffer from the writer’s curse. Do they have a road sign for writer’s block? Because if you pass the ‘construction ahead’ sign in the mind of a writer you’d find an unfinished building. Maybe a door or two Windows missing with paint of every color imaginable splashed on every wall abstractly. Maybe there should be the sign ‘Narrow road ahead’ or maybe ‘Sharp right/left ahead’. Because every crevice has a story to tell. In each electrical impulse; an impulsively electric poem. Transmitters transmitting transmissions. Alliteration. Pattern of Three. So how does it work? If I use these devices does it mean I have good prose? Will I ever be as great as Shakespeare if the only word I have ever invented was ‘brabe’: you’re my bro but also my babe- you feel? A rhetoric, but I want you to answer the question. But then again that word was my cousins. But don’t all great artists steal? The only thing I have ever stolen is inspiration- and chocolate. Anyway, as you can see there’s really no correlation between anything. Just my pandemonium of thoughts. I never was a good writer anyway.

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