No Title

One of my biggest fears about writing is that I haven't experienced enough in my life to create anything worthwhile, so I wanted to express that frustration here.

I told myself I’d have this poem finished

by the time I drank this cup of iced tea.

So I pursed my lips and sipped with careful

conviction, consuming it like a first kiss.

 

I figured I’d better take my time,

seeing as my mind is flat and my heart

beats with a frustrating regularity.

I’m down to the final dregs now and all

 

I really have to show is a simple title

that may or may not have any sort of

significance and a couple of worn out,

offbeat stanzas staggering like cripples.

 

And wouldn’t you know it, now I’m

chewing on the ice cubes with no end or

even a remote sense of finality in sight.

You couldn’t even argue there’s any feeling

 

of importance here, any kind of resolve,

or any problem that would require its presence

in the first place - no, just an insipid dreamer

trying to ignore the near empty glass in his hand.

 

Perhaps I’d be better off leaving such matters

to the young lovers or the limping wanderers.

Their hearts are full with unspoken necessity

while my glass is hollow, my words swallowed.

 

Reviews

[Matt]

I'm new to this website and I'm not completely sure how reviews work, but I loved this poem. I definitely understand where you're coming from. It's hard to write about feelings/experiences you've never had, which in my case seems to drastically limit what I can write about. Also not to be creepy, but I saw you're from Lawrence, Rock Chalk!

[Matthew Clough]

Thank you, it's wonderful to receive feedback! I think it's something many writers have to deal with at some point, and I'm glad you too can understand the challenges.