I'm just going to do my best to keep my mouth shut.
To hold in all that I feel and wait for a paper to release it all.
I'm going to let mold settle and when its time, ill scrape it out and morph it into words.
And even then, would I know what to say? Or would I say the wrong thing?
Would I have to start over, with an indent already in place from before.
Would I lose whatever I had sworn to pursue.

I would be the one with the chalk, in the middle of nowhere, blasting rock music in my ears, trying to write a best-seller.
I'd imagine my soul intact in a jar, a magnifying glass in hand
I'd decipher the grooves and the dents engraved in the red walls of my soul.
I'd translate them into words that I didn't even know could come out of something so small
I'd suprise myself,
I'd write a best-seller, even with a piece of chalk and a board as the only way to convey the message

I'd surprise myself, If I did.