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 dithers—
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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