Is this it? The end of a grand experiment in writing? Will it take another ten years before I find words again? I’m tired. My head hurts. And I feel heavy. So heavy. I’ve been staring at a blank page for an hour, and all I think is that my head hurts and I’m too heavy. I want to sleep.
I never expected this blog to turn into poetry blog. When I started, I had no idea what I’d end up writing about. I imagined that I’d pull out the poems I had written, talk about them, about creating them, look at how they tied into my life. I didn’t know that I’d find so many more to write.
Am I just having a moment? Will this feeling pass? Will the fog lift and the depression ease? Or am I really done?
Why does my pen betray me?
It won’t give me rhythm or rhyme.
And when I try hard to keep writing,
It refuses to draw a clear line.
My paper has turned hard against me,
Rejecting the ink I lay down.
It spits in my face.
I give up in disgrace.
I wish I could turn it around.
A hack is a hack and I know it.
No matter how hard I still try,
I’m only as good as the
Next poem that should have
Been written by now.
I’m a lie.