I haven’t been able to write
Put words on a page
In a way
That not even the critics get it
Unique
Strange
Because I’m too young to have
Amnesia
Pause
Take a ‘breatha’
Breathe out
“I think you meant
Alzheimer’s.”
Rhymers
Writers
Always correcting
Interjecting
Projecting
Ideas
Opinions
Their meaning onto a life
They never lived
But I forgive
Because I’m slightly the same
Main
Ly
When I’m
Just putting words down
Words down
“I think you mean pen.”
Where’s that voice coming from
Doesn’t matter
I’m not done
Writing
But it seems
The voice is telling me
The right thing
I have nothing more to say
I do
“You
Don’t.
Stop!”
Until
It feels like I have it
Like a bad habit
See the rhythm
And I’m not trying
To grab it
Effort
Damn it
I need to rest
Tomorrow I’ll be back at it
Writing a story a day
For a hundred days
Telling you about love
Lost
Gain
Pain
A hundred ways
“You can’t end it
With a suggestion.”
Shhh
Did I mention
This unbelievable tension…
Nah
Another hour
The world’s level
I don’t need to
Give you a piece of my mind
All the time