writing my way through

i've had it!
i've meditated
been silent
observed life,
grasping at my own
desperate
need of inspiration...
i long...
SO much,
to create...
to give an offering
of prose
to use my gift
to lift
to release something
ANY thing,
into the world...
i feel choked.
it's like,
i have nothing to say
nothing to show for
this mind i mind...
this heart i love
the things i see...
i feel less than a poet
lately,
like it's too hard to be a "bard"
and too banal an existence
at the same time...
because,
"everyone's doing it"
and if any person
can scribble, loop, dot...
then, why can i NOT?
maybe it's that thing...
that thing,
that happens to me
having been the square
to the round hole
since i could remember,
perhaps i dismember myself...
detach and unchain myself
from the growing number
of poetic hummers...
always the one to twirl,
counter to their clockwise
and paint around the image
instead of in it...
i've become bored?
oh no...
that's not allowed...
this writing?
this IS me.
i can't get stuck
with no words
speechless...
spoken words...quieted
written words...stilled
i have GOT to dig deep!
i have to awaken from this sleep...
if i have to chant this rant...
that i must give forth
love from the source...
in order to keep in sight
that there's a soul,
reading,
water welled in their eyes
as something I have birthed
kisses them gently...
that's what i will do!
so...
no,
i've gotta keep writing my way through.
i can't fade into the minutiae of it all...
or get mired into this momentary fall,
my pen must win!
this gift given me
will not go un-praised...
it will not go to waste...
i will write,
my way through...if not for me...
for you...