Clicks

Compulsions to create governed by fear and perpetual query, Where affirmations are fossil fuels, scarce and costly. Approval? Qualified? I Dangle upside-down, tethered to a rope questions. Hovering over a pit of acceptance with a bloated cranium. A pause in their scroll… The press of a gesture nibbles away the rejuvenating thread. How can a dozen feel worse than none? These little thumbs, those filled-in hearts, these perverted numbers. The lack of something accumulates, forming a dam even beavers would envy. Obstructing a river of creative juices that quench the thirst of unfulfillment. To overcome, to not care. These two rarely coexist. Perhaps shifting the care could break the levy. Not what they think, but I, and what laser could separate the two? The strategy brings hope to a mind battered by rejection. That’s right, Destroyer of Motives! Disguiser of Truths! I will get up and press that power button, double-click that software, and create. Not for whoever they are, but for me. So, blast the damns and let it flow! Who knows, maybe they like it..