Write.

Sometimes I want to write, and I can't. Here is a poem about me not being able to write. For the irony, a piece of writing about not being able to write.

Sometimes I want to write,

And I can't find the words.

Thousands of options, all from a combination.

Of only 26,

And I can't find the ones I want.

The few I need.

To convey the moments’ feelings, the passing thoughts,

The jumbled mess.

The cure. My cure.

To write. Poetically or otherwise.

Escapes me some.

Therein, are the moments where thinking is dangerous,

Because the normal purpose my thoughts serve, avail me.

And without a purpose, they are just an enemy.

An enemy of my existence.

And believe me when I say.

I have enough of them.

Author's Note

Thanks for reading :)