Your poetry is a lot better than mine
Professional
Clean
Passion-filled

I write.
I wrote?
I write.
From time to time.
But not like you.
I've seen your work.

Verbs brighter than a Sunday comic strip
Reminds me of playing dominos with my sisters after church
Play-dough sculptures
My hands can create anything, Mom!

But what now?
Broken hands
Broken mind
Broken poetry

I write.
But it's all ****.
It's been **** for months.
Not a **** analogy to come to mind
Except cliche darkness and awkward fumbling

So when you take my hand in yours
And kiss my forehead
And ask me if I write
I say
No