i want to write more poetry but the words refuse to leave
i'm terrified that they might become what used to make me pleased

i believed every scribble i drew on paper in pen was art
"it's my poetry, who cares about verse, form, rhythm, and heart?"

i assigned too much meaning to all the juvenile words
instead of searching for the words that are ones worth working for

i continuously thought that my first drafts were perfection
always finished with each one after being newly written

i labeled meaningless writing as simply ambiguous
to call my work poetry was such a misdiagnosis