I lost my poem. It died a horrible death. I cared about it too much. I put my heart in it — but I knew that a careless scroll would end it.

It was painful and yet I still persist.

It was beautiful.

It hurts when you can’t control the forces against you.

I wanted to exceed every expectation. I needed to make the presentation neatly offered — in an effort to echo the baggage from long ago.

When writing had no limits. When the ideas poured in with the security of being able to surpass what still needed to be dreamed up.

Now, we have gadgets that erase our shit without permission.

Like my damn poem.

I didn’t curse or cry or even contemplate hanging myself. It was beautiful and each word gave orgasmic pressure that I will never relieve without generic recollection.

When you Select All — you are really emptying the bowels of contentment.

I found out the hard way.

To avoid creative fodder.

Save All. And then — Paste.

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say! https://www.amazon.com/Women-Tribe-Short-Stories-Capturing-ebook/dp/B09MC7VRJ6/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=ezinne+ukoha&qid=163