why can’t I just keep being productive
… keep writing
Why is it that the well seems to go dry
Or the need to share seems to leave
Walking out the door with its hat in its hand saying “till next time”

I hate it when it feels like I have nothing else to say
Or is it more like I get afraid and retreat?

I know I want to be the guy on the right or is it the other guy. Not the guy you know.

And yet I feel a pull
A tug back to comfort
And to not writing
Not sharing

I resist
This is resisting