Does this post even need an introduction? Sometimes ya got it; sometimes ya don’t!
Today, I hate poetry
Writing poems is like reading a book
in braille—
I know where to place my fingertips,
but I still can’t find the words.
I have so much to say,
and yet my sharpened No. 2
refuses to move.
Why am I so hard on myself?
Why must I overthink every
word
phrase
line
in a genre whose very existence defies all rules
and yet has so many!
Why
must I always be a damn perfectionist?
*Image by Daniel Roberts from Pixabay.