At least I had it at one time—
The ability to make pretty words flow and rhyme
Not only that
Those words were sincere
Genuine uprootings of feelings made clear

Whether the emotion be happiness or fear
You can count on the fact that they were true projections
Yes I write simple now
Maybe that’s okay

I was lucky, I was good
At bleeding out all the emotions I could
Feel, but now replacing it is fear
Of not writing a good enough poem for my virtual peers

That is where the trouble lies
If I write for others, that’s where the bleeding subsides
Perhaps my poetry has been tainted by my pride
Or worse, perhaps it acts as a block from the right
Words that I have so been longing to find
That’ll do it
Pride can **** the flow alright.