I know the words I'm searching for are there,
lying beneath the surface of my conscience grasp,
and I know if I try hard enough I can reach them,
pull them from their depths
and use them to create something meaningful
but what if they're not meaningful?
What if I lost it, the talent to string
many times used words together
to make something new altogether?
I could cry with the lack of effort
I put into my poetry now-a-days,
but I'm learning to fear so many things I never use to,
and its hampering my work on a large degree.
How can I claim this is what I do,
who I AM,
when I don't cant feel confident
in my skills as a writer anymore?
Who am I if not a writer?
I'm nothing extraordinary; writing made me feel free
and hopeful and extraordinary,
but I'm not writing anymore,
at the least nothing that makes me feel all those things.