I'm waiting for inspiration
And I'm left wanting
Wanting my writing to be well thought out
And pleasant to read and hear
Even if the subject itself is not
But I hate to wait
It takes too long
I want to create poetry
But my creativity can't keep up with the demand of my twitching fingers
The want, the need
To create something
But not knowing what that something is
It's infuriating to say the least
So I rush
I put out unfinished, not well thought out pieces
In order to satiate that itch
I swear I'm not a boring person
I just tend to feel the same things
Over, and over
So all my poems start to sound the same
Monotonous, restating old ideas
Because I don't think about it
Or I think too much
I try too hard
To sound different
Unique
But that's not who I am
I'm just a boy
Who happens to fall in love too easily
And has a voice
But no clear message