Empty

All the while,
my notebook remains empty.

I hate the way my handwriting
looks when I first begin to write.
It's awkward,
clumsy;
I grip the pen tightly,
too tight,
and relearn the skill.

My words clamber
across the page,
tripping over themselves,
any my rough fingerprints.

My hand aches.
I'm out of shape.

I remember being scared,
too scared to write.

I plan to fill this notebook,
digital or otherwise,
until
no
more
comes.