Thoughts have a hold on your head like dreadlocks
and so I write.
And so I write continuously like how waves go on
I write in order to make sense of existence.
There is something missing in these written verses.
Perfection is not real.
Whatever you wrote is alright and so I told myself.
The coming together of notes is beautiful.
It is a sort of collage really.
Pieces of myself in writing.
Expressive are words.
Learning in the process and through this I feel free.