Decay

Chirp

Been writing poetry in my head at night,

But none of it seems to come out right.

So I might as well stop,

And hide under my bed before the truth talks.

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything good,

So maybe I’ve peaked before anyone’s even taken a look.

That’s okay, it’s not like it’s a stable career path anyway,

But if it won’t come out right here,

Or there,

What I’ve said and what you’ve heard,

In my voice or through the written word,

Then where can I express myself in a way that doesn’t make me want to wither into dust and clutter;

Debris and decay?

If I can’t communicate or understand how to be understood,

Will I ever be more than a person who never could?

Reviews

[Masked writer]

Self doubt is a wall of nothingness, cross it and who knows what the world will bring you. though through the walls that decay, leaving you nothing but speechless, glasses filled with empty broken words...
keep it up
MW

[Farjana Chaity]

Your poem beautifully expresses the frustration and self-doubt that can often accompany the creative process, especially when it comes to writing.