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The Blank Page Before Me
The empty page glares back at me
As I’m filled with insecurities.
How do I get these thought on paper
These words have no girth, no flavour.
All this pain, all my pride.
They just don’t fit; the words don’t rhyme.
I know exactly what I mean to say,
But the product doesn’t turn out that way.
I seem too whiny, rude, or weird.
A poser, a loser, my biggest fear.
I can’t write down what goes on in my head.
Pick up a pen and my brain cells go dead.
Adjectives and verbs all seem too weak,
To truly convey what goes on in the streets.
There’s love and there’s murder; hate and then war.
I guess I’ve got nothing to say anymore
A dictionary lies not three feet away.
But all of those words can’t summarize my day.
I’m losing my talents, I’ve lost my voice.
I’ve written of hatred, and written of boys.
Perhaps inspiration is what I lack.
Art is far more that history and facts.
I need a new friend, I need some betrayal.
A new thing to tackle, a math test to fail.
To draw out a tear, of the ones I that love,
Compare the clouds to the wings of a dove.
Write something poetic, or something that’s sweet
Pen something that someone