Some days
There's a fountain
In my soul
Shooting up words
And thoughts
Clear fresh water
Droplets on a page

Some days
The well goes dry
Eyes burning
Free from tears
No words
No love
This is worse somehow

Once a writer, always a writer.
Forgive me if I question this now
I lost my words- I wish I knew how.

How many hours
spent scribbling these poems?
How many days wasted
rereading them,
nudging and prodding
each word into its proper place
until it all flowed and sounded...

still not quite right.

i stared at it.
it's been over two weeks since i've written a piece and it's been over a month since i continued my book.
hopeful that it'd move and let me write,
like the way my cat likes to sleep on my keyboard.
please move.

Left
Right
Black and white
through eyes
Light deformed
Creature taken flight
Eyes colorless
lost
broken
nothing
nothing
Nothing but Nothing

Empty

“Ug, I hate the poetry unit.” (Girl in English class #1)
“Saaaaammmme.” (Girl in English class #2)
(Teacher) “Write a poem about...happiness!”
Happiness? All the poems I write are depressing…
What is happiness anyway?
A light?
A sound?
A song?
A feeling?
Or...something more?
Maybe...maybe happiness is like the peak of a mountain.
You must climb, higher and higher, to reach a smile or a laugh
Or, I suppose, happiness could be a lantern.
Glowing in the darkness, allowing people to see the world around them differently.
Giving people hope to wherever the bearer travels.
Or, I suppose, happiness could be a sound or thing.
Like a heartbeat.
Or a laugh.
Maybe even a dubbed anime episode that you’ve been waiting to watch for months.
So, what is happiness?
It doesn’t seem to really have a definition.
I guess it depends on who you are, and what makes you happy.
Ug.
Poems about happiness are so hard to write.

i never finish
i only begin
feelings turn to ink
i let it sink in

i hope the words
will find their way
and lead me to the end

but whether hand or heart
i tire out
and begin again

I'm trying not to think about him, but I know his eyes, his mouth, his energy is there in the back of my mind.
Like a finger scraping down my spine
Like ignoring the lyrics of a song when you can feel the bass reverberating in your stomach
It's that nervous tossing and turning exhaustion after a *** of black coffee has left you buzzing
I can pretend
But who's going to buy that when you can see the mosquitoes prickling and buzzing about my cerebellum?