Complete Sentence

I am not my writing.

Life is not as beautiful as a moment perfectly captured in phrase and rhythm; you can’t really go back and tweak the color.

The unwritten me is riddled with typos and scribbles

abbreviations, cliches and weird little symbols.

unfounded suppositions, overlapping contradictions…

jarring transitions.

A whole

not yet, less than, irrelevant to

the sum of its parts.

It’s just parts:

Scrambled, strewn about, broken… dirty.

Handfuls randomly arranged in a series of outlines,

Most of which will never see a complete sentence.

I dream I will bring the parts together, write them, show them to you.

I pray I’ll manage to burn my notebooks before I die.

I need you to see me completed, edited, illustrated, bound.

I am ashamed of my unfinished thoughts.

Suggested song pairing: Sarah B’s “New n Shiny”