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What If Maya Angelou Said

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It’s over.


Done.
Finished.
The end.


Never again will I pick up a pen take it to paper and write about anything or anyone.
Anyway, I’ve had it with my writing voice and choice for expression.
Why bother?
The words are wasted.
The thoughts I express are meaningless.
The ideas in which I write about are not of any value.
Writing is too quiet.
Words don’t travel unless they’re audible.


So, good-bye essays.
Later poetry.
Adios short stories and no word to the wise.
I’m outta here.

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