Something Static

Writers block

Walking through mid time traffic
I see many worlds unfold
That was the first lines of a poem
I wrote so long ago
Before I had mic control
Had it and lost it
Trying to reclaim the throne
Trying to write with prescription thinking
Trying to write like Ritalin
Making you think like
Your cerebral cortex
stretched

like good sex
Should make you sweat
A poet should make you feel something
Different
Cause word play should make
Your mind like a box cutter
It should open you up
And cut you quick
Poetry is like a tourniquet
Keeping ink from seeping out of your skin
Because if you’re all in
And I mean fully immersed in
Each word, each breath
Each verse each line of a poems end rhymes and in time each line you may find may have an internal rhyme scheme
Keeping
Like rainforest
Rain dropped waterfalls and Desert springs
Each poem makes the pain stop
For a second even I mean something again
Maybe when I read this aloud
The sound will come out
Strong like a prizefighter in the twelfth round
The underdog who just won’t give up
Or break down
Or back down
I am fine again
I tell myself
As I sit down wishing I was
Someone else
My lines are disconnected
My story is fragmented
Disected and strong scented
Every word I’ve said
Every single line in every poem
Wether online, out loud or in books
I am the spine, the sound and each line is truth focused.
A rags to riches, slit wrists to clenched fists
I am a poet
And I don’t really give s shit what you think
I am made up of ice and ink
And all the rest
Is just a wave cresting and crashing
Cresting and crashing
And I am just watching each wave
Ebb and recede
Cresting and crashing
Tilli I chill with the quill
And Relax with each relapse
Cresting and crashing
Chilling and waxing poetic
On a train home
Alone
With two stops left
To shine a light inside
Spark a fuse
Let some loose truth on you
Waiting to find something
Tangible
Something real to hold on to
Something
Static.

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