i used to be able to sit for hours
and write poems for you
now it feels like im trying to squeeze elephants out of a pinhole
my words dont flow the same
the song does not sing and my mind will not think
is it because im not as sick?
does my creativity rely on my illness?
does my magic only work when im hopelessly in love with a man who wants nothing to do with me?
what the hell is going on.
now that ive healed, am i not allowed to visit the spring of creativity?
is it reserved for lowly people who do not know their worth?
oh muses i pray
let me write the same again one day