Peice of paper

Today... I feel like a blank piece of paper. I don't really feel anything creative about me today. I'm static, nothing crazy and spontaneous like I generally am. Ideas pass right out of my mind. Nothing sticks, nothing molds me. Today is just dreadful.

The funny thing is... this isn't even a description of a blank piece of paper. In fact... sometimes being a blank piece of paper is good. You have more room to be creative. In fact... you have all the room to be creative. Maybe I want to be a blank piece of paper. And my surface is fighting off the pen of life. It doesn't want to be written on today. Today my mind doesn't want to learn, or teach anything.

I won't even read this over and correct myself. I am a contradiction. An uncreative, non-clever, piece of paper that is jealous. Jealous that he can't get a word across, because he wont let himself speak. You're mad because you're the 1%... I'm not even a number.