The Envious Writer

I've been writing for what seems like forever. It's been the only way I could effectively communicate with people in comparison with speaking. However, it seems everyone is progressing.

I grimace at the blank pages before me

And feel ashamed of the words I cannot write

See, I have no many opinions and thoughts

About all the things that are wrong and right

But I can never seem to express myself fully

 

I’ve read works that seemed to flow effortlessly

And words that expressed emotion with mere imagery

I envy the writer who can write in such a manner

But that writer never seems to be me

Because my words come out jaded and incomplete

 

I use to pride myself on just this

Because this was all that I had

Don’t ask me to speak in a room full of people

My spoken words were just as bad

It seems this is only slightly better than that

 

Stories where characters were never described

Yet you knew them based on what they said

Poems expressed sadness and darkness

My pages merely a canvas where ink has bled

It’s hard to avoid the cliches

 

I’m envious of many writer’s know how’s

Because they seem to possess,

What are the words I’m looking for,

An abundance of self-expression to access

Whilst I struggle to find the right words