To all my never-finished poems,
don't think you are of less worth,
because I gave up on you,
I couldn’t keep writing,
not because I didn’t care,
but because,
there wasn't more to say.

To all my never-finished poems,
you carry so many thoughts of mine,
so many ideas that once seemed great.
So much pain, because I didn't know,
what I was supposed to write,
so the best thing to do,
was to let go.

Maybe that's how you are meant to be,
just a concept, never completed.
Perhaps that's just the way it is,
I can't force you,
can't force a poem.