So I tried poetry… This is about he fact that I can’t find a thing to write about because I have too many ideas: they morf into one, then into nothing.  

My mind is blank of all expression

Not like if you were to wipe a white board

Marks left by pens 

Past down through generations of girls and boys

Who never stop to wipe that white board

Till the mark has made its mark

Left a permanent mark

The only mark we are unable to erase by force

Not like that
Like, when you open a new book

But it’s in a foreign language 

Scribbles on a page

Shapes curve and curl

Winding their way across the page

Twirling and turning

Creating a piece of art

A piece of work

But it means nothing
You don’t understand the words even though there is a meaning

You draw a blank 

Because even though there’s something there

The black and whites aren’t so black and white 

And When the monochrome is so monotone that

We never understand the things we are creating

But we create none the less

We create things of no meaning

They like us are blank

Not black and white 

They are grey

Like the mark on the whiteboard

We are unable to discern it’s first intentions 

What its creator wanted it to do

So it fades to grey as we do

As our minds do