I hate the way
I choke on words
when I try to say them,
the way I can't even
write them anymore.

It's like wishing on
a star that doesn't even
exist, but still hoping
that when it falls you'll
catch it.

Every time I think something
clever, my hand reaches for a pen
and I falter.

The confidence I had before
is lost in the numbness
I somehow acquired.

Now all I do is write about
the way I can't seem to write
anything creative,
where am I even going with this?

It's making me wonder
if writing really isn't
'my thing'
and if I should just
find something else
to waste my empty soul on.

There's nothing left
for me in these

The End

1 comment about this poem Feed