I’m striving to write a poem, yet the words elude me, as if every letter has crumbled to dust within my mind. A spark of poetic fire ignites, but when I reach for even a single syllable to shatter the silence, each nascent line dissolves into emptiness. I battle on, though the will I once possessed has faded like a flame doused by relentless rain, leaving only wet coals behind. I wander into the void of night, my energy dissipating into shadows, each effort emerging as a desperate plea that the void mercilessly swallows. Still, I stand at the edge, peering into a vast sea of forgotten verses, watching the rhythmic ebb of lost words. I know that soon, I will gather the scattered strands of my thoughts and awaken the dormant creation within.

i watched today,
as unicef came,
and asked to speak with my parents,
i hid away as the adults conversed,
and sat back down to dinner,
their conversation was abrupt,
halted by a shut door,
and an exhale of annoyance,
their rant stuck to me,
and I thought,
as they complained,
-at least they're trying.

I'm not sure if it's braver
to stay
or to go
I'm afraid either way
and I just don't know
luckily I don't have to decide
tonight