this is redundant
damnit,
this longing
to scribe...
looking intensely
for the right vibe,
playing music
and reading...
reminiscing on when
words came easy
damn,
i just want to write...
is the thing i scream silently,
so what is it?
why do i get stuck in prose
looking for a poem?
why do i find myself,
free-styling stanzas
of vexation
to force OUT of me
what used to flow like
fountain springs?
i've been doing inventory
drinking up what drops fall
as liquid incentive...
yet i ache at the stillness
is it me?
am i changing?
...is what i ask,
has my muse
left to bring blissful whispers
of worded pleasures
to another?
[whore]
is my time up and over?
have i squandered
my poetic account?
or am i a lifetime member
of the torture and ecstasy
that comes with the artistry?
or have i become too used to the enstasy
...spending too much time
inside my mind,
rummaging through
experiences of old,
instead of creating
new slide shows
and new tides to row...
even though,
i do feel it...a little
that purge pushing past
smoke screens
and veils of veiled attempts
to ignore the tickling
at the base of my spine...
and if i had to be honest,
i'm may be in denial...
that what begs to be written,
ain't what i want to be scribbling...
hiding out in this question
when the answer,
lies barefaced
with glaring eyes...
that i need to quit trying to make it
bend to me
knowing i'm it's slave...
and not the other way around
damnit...
i knew when i started asking,
two entries ago...
that i was rebelling
with my sun's stubbornness
my rising's detachment
and my moon's oblivion...
against the truth...
the truth...
and it's naked ways
beseeching me to see it,
causing blush...all the same
and now,
i'm sitting on the fence
pen ready and unsteady
afraid to see what's left
when the ink dries
blinking blankly
at the reveal...
throwing back the comfort
from what i've tried to conceal
[deep swallow]
i suppose if i obey it
give way to it
and sway with it,
that i'll unblock the passage
and my spirit will stop shimmying
and my head will quit spinning
and my heart will stop seizing...
if i'd only give my muse a reason
to return again...
to write my way through, this too
so, now
i guess i owe y'all a damn poem...
about love...
