outstaring a blank wall
You stand before a wall.
It waits, blank as withheld breath.
What hovers over you?
Drafts unpinned,
stories unspoken,
videos sealed,
pages chasing horizons
that never arrive.
Perfection whispers—
a mask for delay.
What if you placed
one imperfect mark?
What if you let motion
carve its shape?
The wall gathers:
crooked sketches,
half-born concepts,
awkward stretches,
jokes collapsing mid-laugh.
Chaotic. Messy.
Unfit for display.
Yet weeks later—
fragments draw together,
a shape begins to inhale.
Not triumph,
but a quiet forming,
a world exhaling
what ‘til now was withheld.
.
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