I've stared at the blank slate for hours on end, sometimes days. You yell, stop leaving each page so bland. But I just can't find the words. I can't find the deep compassion to write deep poetry that I once had in my heart and soul. I can't find the thing that made me spit the words on the page so fluently like a singer to their song. I feel no longer a poet to my poem. A disconnection to so many things, too many things and none can be found. Some connections I no longer want yet this one particularly I do. I can't find it though. I just can not. It's impossible to have without having every other bone crushing, heart shattering thing in this world. I can't. I can't. I can't. Maybe another I can't will somehow sink deep in my skin and through my veins, creating poetry. But for now it is I can't and you will have to deal with that. I will have to deal with it. For however long until I can figure out that an "I can't" can become an "I can" if I really tried. So I'll go back to the page and as the screaming continues, I'll know "I can't".
-a.h.
