I Can’t Write

I love writing.
I used to anyways.
I had a pocket-sized notepad
for me to seize a dribble of phrases,
to flow out an ocean of words,
to reminisce teenage phases.
In between classes,
a ship awaits me,
all the things I’ve once brood,
became islands I ought to intrude.
The metaphors turn into their own isle,
the inhabitants are as fury, as hostile.
I had explored these places.
My journey was marked with a dot
and I ended up with thousands of traces
of the things I had jot.

My fingertips couldn’t bear to write for long
and the words in my palace
stayed concealed; almost gone.
I had lost these sentiments
that filled in the vacancy, the gaps.
I’m questioning my sentience
and my ship has collapsed.

Oh, how I missed the seas,
The world I’ve built
was more vivid than it could ever be
and it only takes a pen
to be a God,
to be me.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s