Writing is the portal to my subconscious. Come inside.
Searching for meaning and discovering truth. Writing is the portal to my subconscious. Come inside.
The Poem I Didn't Want To Write
by Aubrey Moore
This poem feels forced
It feels boring, it feels hard
I didn’t want to write it
But my hands could not be barred
As they move slowly but surely
Every key was quietly typed
In the coffee shop down the street
As opposed to the middle of the night
That’s when I like to write
When the sun disappears
The moon lights my journey
As my dark world wraps and lears
I’m consumed with thoughts and words
Pouring out through my hands
It feels natural and organic
It calms me watching them dance
On the mechanical keyboard making sounds
Clickety clack, clickety clack!
Ah, it’s honestly to die for
The pleasurable sounds bring me back
To life and I’m suddenly alive!
Losing track of time and space
I sit as long as I must
My fingers quickening their pace!
When I’m in this place of writing
Everything make sense
No one is right or wrong
My problems are less dense
Alas, I cannot stay
I must return and simply face
The reality of life
As I finally slow the pace
Of my fingers and my brain
Seemingly empty of rhyme
Blankly staring at the page now
I guess it’s about that time
To return to society
It takes almost all of my might
To return to the coffee shop
Finishing the poem I didn’t want to write
The Poem I Didn't Want To Write
by Aubrey Moore
This poem feels forced
It feels boring, it feels hard
I didn’t want to write it
But my hands could not be barred
As they move slowly but surely
Every key was quietly typed
In the coffee shop down the street
As opposed to the middle of the night
That’s when I like to write
When the sun disappears
The moon lights my journey
As my dark world wraps and lears
I’m consumed with thoughts and words
Pouring out through my hands
It feels natural and organic
It calms me watching them dance
On the mechanical keyboard making sounds
Clickety clack, clickety clack!
Ah, it’s honestly to die for
The pleasurable sounds bring me back
To life and I’m suddenly alive!
Losing track of time and space
I sit as long as I must
My fingers quickening their pace!
When I’m in this place of writing
Everything make sense
No one is right or wrong
My problems are less dense
Alas, I cannot stay
I must return and simply face
The reality of life
As I finally slow the pace
Of my fingers and my brain
Seemingly empty of rhyme
Blankly staring at the page now
I guess it’s about that time
To return to society
It takes almost all of my might
To return to the coffee shop
Finishing the poem I didn’t want to write
The Poem I Didn't Want To Write
by Aubrey Moore
This poem feels forced
It feels boring, it feels hard
I didn’t want to write it
But my hands could not be barred
As they move slowly but surely
Every key was quietly typed
In the coffee shop down the street
As opposed to the middle of the night
That’s when I like to write
When the sun disappears
The moon lights my journey
As my dark world wraps and lears
I’m consumed with thoughts and words
Pouring out through my hands
It feels natural and organic
It calms me watching them dance
On the mechanical keyboard making sounds
Clickety clack, clickety clack!
Ah, it’s honestly to die for
The pleasurable sounds bring me back
To life and I’m suddenly alive!
Losing track of time and space
I sit as long as I must
My fingers quickening their pace!
When I’m in this place of writing
Everything make sense
No one is right or wrong
My problems are less dense
Alas, I cannot stay
I must return and simply face
The reality of life
As I finally slow the pace
Of my fingers and my brain
Seemingly empty of rhyme
Blankly staring at the page now
I guess it’s about that time
To return to society
It takes almost all of my might
To return to the coffee shop
Finishing the poem I didn’t want to write
The Poem I Didn't Want To Write
by Aubrey Moore
This poem feels forced
It feels boring, it feels hard
I didn’t want to write it
But my hands could not be barred
As they move slowly but surely
Every key was quietly typed
In the coffee shop down the street
As opposed to the middle of the night
That’s when I like to write
When the sun disappears
The moon lights my journey
As my dark world wraps and lears
I’m consumed with thoughts and words
Pouring out through my hands
It feels natural and organic
It calms me watching them dance
On the mechanical keyboard making sounds
Clickety clack, clickety clack!
Ah, it’s honestly to die for
The pleasurable sounds bring me back
To life and I’m suddenly alive!
Losing track of time and space
I sit as long as I must
My fingers quickening their pace!
When I’m in this place of writing
Everything make sense
No one is right or wrong
My problems are less dense
Alas, I cannot stay
I must return and simply face
The reality of life
As I finally slow the pace
Of my fingers and my brain
Seemingly empty of rhyme
Blankly staring at the page now
I guess it’s about that time
To return to society
It takes almost all of my might
To return to the coffee shop
Finishing the poem I didn’t want to write
Sitting Down with Sex Coach, Aubrey Moore
Sitting Down with Sex Coach, Aubrey Moore