I have at least 50.

50 drafts of everything.

Drafts of how I pictured my life to go.

Drafts of thoughts I thought I wanted to let you know.



I have at least 500 drafts of poems I never finished.

But more than that are the hundreds of blog post drafts, currently relinquished.



Drafts on paper.

Drafts on computers.

Drafts of songs.

Drafts of stories with scooters.

Drafting in my brain.

Drafting in my heart.

I’m sure I’ll never finish

the drafted story of the time we fell apart.

I just can’t seem to finish

anything I begin to start.



Because if you press and poke me

Then every time you will find

Something different than what you expected

To recieve from the images I project outside.


Drafting in football.

Drafting choreography.

Drafting the first-version photo in photography.

Drifting as you’re rafting, it’s practically drafting.

If I’m drafting while I’m drifting, I imagine I’m hover-crafting.


I heard someone tell me that my life is “so put together.”


If only you read my drafts…

Only then would you truly see the storms I weather.

In fact, I’m drafting this right now

And I’ll come back to it later.

So let us pray it sees the light of day

Which it won’t if I don’t stop trying to make it greater.




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