Boring Writer

I brush my teeth. I wash my face. I sit, with my pen and paper. My eyebrows furrow, I bite my lips, I should feel refreshed… I got up early for this. Instead, I feel embarrassed. When I’m lonely, my writing is tense. When I’m lonely, I scribble and tear the pages out, gently. I got up early to write today. I could have written about the sunrise. But it’s too late for that now. At work. At my desk. I want to go home. And be lonely. I want to be a writer. But my life is way too boring for that.