The Writing

 I never know what to write when I force it. 

I try to force it 

For the words to get along, 

to come together, to form something readable, 

but it's always comes out unruly: 

a laughing stock amongst my peers.

That's why I usually don't allow visitors, 

Hello people to peep into my journals, 

To read things I haven't chiseled. 

I am like a mother before guests or due to arrive, 

Trying to make sure every word, that all the words are on their best behavior or left tumbling on a sheet of paper together to never see the day of lights as punishment. 

I never know what to write when I try to force it 

It usually happens much later in the day when my guard is down, 

When my thoughts become unwieldy in my emotions are barbaric that's when the timer fully chimes and I can write, but only then can I truly write. 

Sometimes I could barely make it through the climb up the stairs, or get home 

Never when I want to but only when I need to.