Maybe there's a point in everyone's life
When the words just stop feeling good enough
When our literary rivers stop flowing
And writing poems, stories, anything, is tough.

Perhaps we must wait for the ice to melt
When the writer's glaciers will start to thaw
At different, unique times for all of us
And we'll find words again, heartfelt and raw.

You confuse karate with love.
You punch, kick, and block.
You master the form,
Practice and practice.
You remember the creed.
Karate is not love.
You don’t kickstart the heart,
You can’t block love out,
Or punch it into submission.

I confuse love with poetry.
I read, write, and dream.
I master the edict of the pen,
Recite and recite.
I remember the sonnets.
Poetry is not love.
You don’t stanza the heart,
You can’t make a metaphor out of love,
Or personify it into breathing.

When will we learn?
When will you stop kicking Cupid?
When will I stop serenading him?
When will we stop this silly interpretation of love?

I don’t know,
But I’ll stop if you stop too.

I've lost my good pen.
Try as I might, to write well
My words still fail me.

Yearning

When soul fire

Longs to be free

Heart and Bone

Ache

But the words don't come

And beauty is stilled

A dry garden

Dust in the wind

A living thing

empty

With the promise

Of rain

Tomorrow

I left all of my words behind.

Stress chiseled a weakness within me.
As my vessel failed, my mind did too.

Though..

I’m not quite finished.
Not quite drained.
Not yet.
No.

O verily how hard it is sometimes
The proper words of beautiness to find
‘Texpress that what is gnarling on your heart
Threatening to tear it ‘way apart
If being able not from inner chest
To fetch the words th’ occasion fitting best
For burden this is oft of too much weight
To let you easily aspire to th’ utmost height
And soar there fretting not about the sun
To melt you waxen wings; o there is none
From brethren of mine who wouldn’t mind
To spend a day or two in aimless grind
With nothing to express or on his soul
Swelling and reclaiming form or mould
To ready be at once to be dispatched
And to rebirth upon a paper’s batch
‘Tis better not to live then, nor indeed
To squander your potential on vile screed

If I call, will you decline it?
If I text, will you read it?
If I love you, will you ignore it?

U disappeared off the face of the earth, and I’m going to be sick.
All because I’ve banished u,
But still I feel so sick.

Delete and then block,
Delete and then block,
& delete and then block.
The same cycle for all my social media accounts…
Except for about 3.

I left those open incase you want to come back.
Add and then friend,
Add and then friend,
& add and then friend.

That was a mistake.

Yes, I saw the new new.
That girl smiling brightly.
That girl taunting me,
“Na Nana boo boo, you can’t have him!”

Well.
That’s when I started to feel sick.

Well,
That’s when I texted u.

Well,
That’s when I broke all self control and discipline.

And well,
Here we are.

I’m sick of calling,
Sick of texting,
Sick of feeling,
And I’m sick of you.
#Sick