The answer I was looking forMature

I used to ask myself
what there was to write about
though I knew there was a lot
I could write about
there wasn't anything that
made me want to write about it
so blank pages would sit
in front of me
it was a question
I couldn't find the answer to
I wasn't interested in
writing about the world anymore
or even writing about writing
but if you're lacking emotion
that makes it harder
so maybe I gave up
and let the questions
swim around my head
an endless little pool
that could not be drained
drowning in questions I couldn't answer
it was a block of ice
I couldn't crack
until poems started appearing
spilling out like they couldn't stop
and I couldn't figure out why
until I looked you in the eyes
and saw the answer I was looking for
had been right in front of me

The End

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