Paper and a pen

I sometimes don’t know where I am going, and in the blink of an eye, my mind is somewhere else. I stand in my kitchen believing I can be a writer. I walk past my guitar believing I could be a musician. In a moment later, leaning against a counter now believing I am a fraud, writing will not happen and the guitar will collect dust. But pay attention to those last two comments. As I lambast myself a fraud, my last following phrases only speak of a negative reaction. If I tell myself those things, I am wanting them to manifest themselves. Am I trying to give myself a break, take the onus off me for not writing, not playing the guitar? My thoughts go everywhere.

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