Mute

Third (final?) draft

Only twenty years

And this little kid

Is already trying to write strong

But he can’t, and he knows it.

 

He’ll struggle for weeks or for months on end,

Just to turn one good phrase,

Just to compose a single convincing line.

And even then, all he writes is simply hollow.

 

He lacks the mind for prose;

He lacks the heart for poetry.

 

His lines

His stanzas

His sentences

His paragraphs…

His every utterance is meaningless.

 

Only twenty years

And this little kid

Is already losing his voice.

 

Reviews

[Maddy Stillman]

I see the connection between this poem and your short bio. I can also see that you do not lack the mind nor the heart! These words wonderfully capture the struggle of many off-and-on writers that recognize their passion but simply can't get the words on paper. I am still very young, but I can relate, as life often occupies my time. I also really like the way you organized your stanzas. The last few lines are very powerful. This, my friend, is not garbage.

[Connor Stone]

Thank you, Maddy. I appreciate the kind words. In all seriousness, I've never felt so frustrated to believe that my writing really is garbage, but I do get very frustrated at times, when I spend so much time and effort on crafting a piece and still come up short. This is my second piece in only a few months that I've felt makes a strong statement, so maybe I'm beginning to track down that voice.