how to make a poet cry

there was a time when I woke with poetry

and went to bed with it,

a time when I walked the streets singing,

greeting birds and trees on my way

somewhere I didn’t have to be.

There was a time when I had time to waste.

When my biggest fear wasn’t failure

but unhappiness,

a time when I didn’t feel so overwhelmed by life’s daily responsibilities

which have come to feel like heavy shackles lately.

The biggest problem in being a poet these days is that when you’re looking for poetry in the daily

and don’t find it-

maybe because there was just so much to do (there always is),

you feel the burning question inside of you:

“what’s all of this for?”

and all the small victories and glories at the office

no longer hold any sense.

 

When the daily becomes the mundane

that’s the quickest way

to make a poet cry.

 

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the struggle is real

“write something worthwhile.”

my brain demanded

“stop ordering me around.”

answered my heart

and the only part of me

doing anything of value

was my right hand

who didn’t say a word

and just kept

writing.

writer’s block

ink fills the blank space of the page

with words that come

one at a time

reluctantly and without rhythm

without heart

I’m not used to it

my usual words carry so much

weight and worth

into what I write

but here, takes these ones instead

they’ll have to do for now

until those more profound

find their way into my soul

out through this pen

onto the pageĀ and then

over to you.

What type of warrior are you?

Another dagger in the heart

You’d think by now that 

I’d have learned how 

to use my shield,

how to wield my sword…

Guess I’m just not

the type of warrior 

who fights off love. 

the power of words

how many crazy dreams

I’ve shared with a pen and paper,

how many ideas and plans have seen

perfectly blank pages,

how many loves I invented,

how many ghosts I have chased away

with the stroke of my pen

how many dead I have risen,

how many different lives I have lived,

how many hearts I have broken,

how many lies I have told myself to believe,

how many tears I caused, but also joy

because words become feelings

when feelings won’t do

but today I write love into life

and hope in the darkness

because that’s what a writer can do.