It's OK not to be inspired.
You can look at a sunset
Without seeing the colours as smudges of chalk
On the divine, stretched-out canvas of sky.
And you don't have to write everything down,
Because not everything has to be permanent.
Some things only last for as long as you remember them,
And it doesn't make them any less special
Just because they weren't written down or spoken life into.
Existing is art, and creating something
That no-one ever gets to hear is still art.
You're a poet even when you're not rushing to your notebook
Before the words fall through your fingers, slippery with desperation,
Motivation, inspiration for the next poem.
So slow down, because if you forget your masterpiece
Because you were enjoying a careless moment of misplaced inspiration,
Who cares? Even if no-one saw it, you know you created an awesome poem.

Monday
                 It has come to my attention, that someone has been stealing from
                 the communal fridge. I notice that my own personal milk with my
                 name on the bottle is half empty, also three fingers of my kitkat
                 are missing. Please refrain, or action will be taken.
Tuesday
                 It has come to my attention, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see
                 my milk has been topped up, though, why ******* of my
                 kitkat  in a V sign beggars belief. Just tasted my milk, you
                 ***** *******. I will now be monitoring the fridge from my office.
                 You will be caught.
Wednesday
                  
                   It has come to my attention, the camera monitoring the fridge
                   is now monitoring the ladies toilet. This is intolerable, you are
                   usurping my authority. Heads will roll. I will now be moving the
                   fridge into my office till further notice.
Thursday

                   It has come to my attention, my office has been penetrated,
                   the fridge is missing, and I find a ransom note on my desk.
                   I don’t know who you people think you're dealing with, but
                   let me leave you in no doubt, I will find out who you are, and
                   you will be dismissed.
Friday

                   It has come to my attention, a delivery of fifty fridges is
                   cluttering up the whole building, management is going
                   ballistic. I concede to your demands, please get rid of
                   them. Let us get back to you taking my milk and my biscuits,
                   my job, my life. Just leave me alone.
                                                                                    Thank you.

As I ponder, perplexed by the possibility
Of a premature passing that may present itself to me
I consider and calculate
Though my conclusion may be crude
That the finest fix for my fear is a feasting of food
I munch on a morsel, my mouth making moisture
Overwhelmingly open to offal and oysters
I'd take them, temptation takes its toll
Curiosity for calories that I can't control
I'd have them, Hoover them, heck I'd hoard 'em
But by now I believe it's basically boredom
Not a necessity to nibble the nosh
It's late I ate a plate at eight, I can wait my gosh
No, I know there is no need
To slurp on soup or scoff some seeds
Only fatigue fuelling the feeling to feed
Got to get to grips with this gross and grotesque greed
Choking on choices, trembling in my chair
Do I punt for the pudding, the peach or the pear?
Selecting such seductive sweeties
Or dealing with death, diets and diabetes?
While I wonder and weep about what will win
My insatiable starvation stumbles on a sin
Not funny you'll find when you're finished and fat
'Cause in the kitchen on the counter there's a KitKat
Four fiendish fingers fascinate the feeling
So seductive, my senses soaring to the ceiling
Try to meet it, cheat it, beat it, defeat it
But what the hell, I don't care, I'll just ****** eat it.

i.
you wonder if somewhere there's a voodoo doll with your face stitched on
(and if it's covered in pins since god knows that would be the logical explanation)
who goes away in winter? he'd laughed and laughed
-- and in spite of yourself, you let him

you very patiently explain that with european winters
'the sun's still out but it's no cancer risk
and the air's still hot at night but it doesn't try to choke you
and what's more cathartic than a spanish caravan park where you're serenaded by crickets?'
playing it off as a quirk, not an excuse to be anywhere else

he'll never know the comfort in being
little more than a passing stranger
a face on a street or in a window or a car
transient, fleeting; the short-term memory lasts roughly thirty seconds
so you're a stranger in a yellow polo and then you're nobody:
it's the circle of life, but compact and mildly less terrifying

ii.
unexplored streets and brains are bigger than home:
you can only be your true self when you are not at home
eyerolling, rotting from air pollution and complaining about first-world problems
you're hardly ill at mind but you're jaded and sad and sufficiently middle-class
so when in doubt, you pack a bag and think nothing else of it

you buy the guardian and a kitkat from a sullen newsagent
whose hands look like your grandmother's
(why do you notice this stuff?)
the poor guy's only middle-aged surely - he can keep the change
counting coins is weird and confusing anyway

happy flying says the hostess with a ribbon around her neck
she means it and you know exactly why she'd taken the job on:
fixed addresses are awfully limiting
and the swarms of crying babies are probably worth it
to get to go everywhere EVERYWHERE

iii.
package holiday dj digs out his usual and plays 'come on eileen' for an aging crowd
your eyes are upturned to a foreign sky and you breathe warmth
the stars are out and you are floating quite carelessly at the top of a swimming pool

happy birthday

you constantly manipulate the game-you toss and turn and hit the ball in all crooked ways, you scream crazy **** and pierce my soul and degrade me to levels not even six feet under could reach.
i seem to let it slide like a baby on ice because believe it or not, the louder my voice, the quieter my soul. I hate the confrontation and i dont see the point of stirring the ***.
i let you run train tracks over my face and flatten my self esteem so quickly but i cant seem to cut you off for good like an umbilical cord to a newborn.

i say one thing to you, because after all, you are always so big about being up front and in your face, you ask us why we dont talk our problems out and let our pandoras box open.
well. we did
we didnt agree-and then you become a power outage shutdown so quick and at this point, im more like pepco instead of BGE-im not quick to turn you back on.
I dont look through the same lens as you, and yes i might not see the bright side-im no sunny side eggs but hey, you are no sunflower either.

i dont understand your doubles. dont touch me and not expect to be touched.
we are friends sure but at this point im not sure if we are seesawing on a not wanting to crack the egg or if we are friends at all.
you are now shut down and at this point im like pepco-not sure when i will try to turn you back on, you bop me around like an abusive parent on drugs-you are so sure that you are right.
im hardly ever right, and i own it but you, im not sure
i cant let you use your pass about your past to get out of jail no for we all, victims and criminals have to own our past. use it to walk forward not run backwards down a hill

i know i know, im a *****, a stuck up ***** with alot to say and yes-i throw the memory of a 19 year old guy performing a ***** on me at only 5 but to be honest thats no excuse either.
we all have hot pots that are quickly dropped because of the complexity of our journeys but its no excuse to shut down. and now writing this more and more, im figuring out that this is not just a letter to you but a letter to myself. you gotta own your advice before dispersing it.
if you need a break, have a break
everyone needs a kitkat bar sometimes
i totally understand