Where has my voice gone?
He said write, words on paper seems so simple
But yet where does the inspiration explode from?
Personal life tragedies
Unexplainable but poetic feelings
A simple comparison to some form of life
But yet I find my voice missing
Losing my love for this pencil and this paper
My need to tell the world my story diminishes with my every scribble and crumpled work
But yet words are just letters
But letters deceive me
Forming words unrecognizable
And those cliché little sayings
But where has my excitement disappeared to?
My pen causing my hand to throb but sheets after sheets of endless words forming a story
I’m waiting for that comparison or that life tragedy I haven’t already told
But yet I am wordless?
Oh look I wrote a poem.
Ironic