Here's what's fixated in my mind -
A blank sheet of white paper.
Set against a silver screen,
Waiting for an artist's touch.
Last thing I remember was reaching for my pencil,
And instantly I feel something magical.
Flowing from my head, channeled through my pencil,
Spilling onto that irritatingly blank paper.
My movements became irregular, robotic,
Almost as if a new thought is being hardwired into my system,
Every second it takes to type a sentence.
Sentence? What's in a sentence?
As Juliet pondered what was in a name?
Unlike my name, a sentence is substantial,
A construction of what I believe in, a piece of my mind's skyline.
Constantly being remodeled to my imagination.
City lights and calm nights translated to spoken word,
Granting the vision to all who hear me through my microphone,
So they can all fill in the blanks in their minds.
Some deny that they have the ability.
Talents aren't born, they are built.
Another building in this skyline that is a world away from home,
But only a few inches from my fingertips.
What was once white and blank is now splattered across the square,
Some leaking into that silver screen in the backround,
Splats and smudges and stories translated to spoken word,
And I smile as I show the world another gift I have created.
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