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Boring Writer

I brush my teeth.

I wash my face.

I sit, with my pen and paper.

My eyebrows furrow, 

I bite my lips,

I should feel refreshed…

I got up early for this.

Instead, I feel embarrassed.

When I’m lonely, my writing is tense.

When I’m lonely, I scribble and tear the pages out, gently.

I got up early to write today. 

I could have written about the sunrise.

But it’s too late for that now.

At work.

At my desk.

I want to go home.

And be lonely.

I want to be a writer.

But my life is way too boring for that.

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