plagiarising myself to get rid of writer’s block; not an academic tactic to employ

— [“How I feel, is not necessarily connected to what I would prefer to think
How I operate, is not necessarily my personality;
I am clueless, a writer’s block in motion
“cock-cunt” blocking my potentials that I did not know
— do not know, how to exactly cultivate…
and I feel lonesome all the time…lonesome in my blood”]

…and I plagiarised myself, we can have a “lol” to that, or can’t we?

because I am sometimes numbed. Sometimes left wingless, on the way to grow new wings
and the cocoon of the wait and weight sometimes bore me, but bores into, I am borne to be born in each consecutive packet of truth and time; I want more and more, wider and wider, but a halo like the gullet that swallows food. I need my heart to be oceanically gradual.

So I am tested for tides. I am a tide in a little vein.—

poet, poet, who is poet? am I poet? wanna -be poets

I am not a poet; though poetry was my spleen and spine
I am a poet; poetry is still my spleen and spine

I do not populate bookshelves, or publications older than digital casings and floppy-disc sagas

I just learned writing and reading and tasted it as the fibre of my being and bone, metal, mettle and flesh and organic spirituality

I write to be. I write therefore I exist.—