I haven't been able
To write poetry lately.
I haven't been able
To write poetry because
Every time I pick up my pen
All of the words flooding my thoughts
Suddenly disappear.
Like people,
They disappear into the wind,
Taking with them everything
From my mind they can carry
In their clammy hands;
Shoving the last shavings
Of my dignity into a paper bag
And fleeing the scene
Like a thief in the night.
A jar of my happiness
Hidden beneath one of their
Sweatshirts,
A few measly scraps of
Confidence in one of their
Left shoes,
And they leave the door open.
And I watch them leave,
Running off into the desolate
Cold of midnight.
I am left empty handed,
Without my thoughts
Or my pride.
Every time they seem to
Take more,
They seem to leave me hollower
Like a freshly carved
Halloween pumpkin;
My insides strewn about,
My skeleton shaved down
To the last bit of brittle bone.
And I let them do it,
Because I don't know
How to stop them.
Believe me, I would if I could,
But I can't.
I can't bring myself to chase
After those thieves,
