You’re so creative

They say in their accusing voices as if

It’s something I’ve been practicing in secret

And only revealing my craft in the hardened light of the workshop room

Small squares of coloured paper

I read about this feeling once

Possibility Clutter they call it which sounds beautiful

but isn’t

Seeing it everywhere and anywhere soon feels like you’re swimming

against a rip

A creative current that can withstand any willpower

Each way you look there’s more and more

So many things to be done

So many ideas, passions, curiosity inflection points

And yet, nothing

Is seen

Is produced

Is proud

Half finished projects and ideas float about

Anchored nowhere but the brief fleeting moment

When they were conceived

And then abandoned

The practice is in fact

An endurance

Of sorts