i accidentally wrote a poem

i hate writing sometimes. the act of writing.

i hate starting it. i think i generally hate starting.

so many rules and letters and words to lay down.

so many thoughts to say out loud or on paper silently.

right now i know everything i want to write, everything is nicely organised in a scheme, and i am extremely excited to write everything down because i have so many things to say about the ghazal i discovered and how i interpret it and everything,

but

i need to write words to express all that.

i can't just aofhagharoigja

and expect that to make sense.

so here i am complaining in words about writing words... the irony.

P.S. I was just complaining about writing my essay and this came out and I think I might call this a poem. In our days anything can be a poem and this text really looks and feels like one. Maybe it is about writing, maybe it is about the writer, maybe it is about life. Who knows? What do YOU think about this "poem" is about?