writer's chaos

Well, here we go again.

The urge to write a poem

but unsure what to write about.

That’s what this is.

Enough going on in my life to write about anything 

but not wanting to write about any of it.

Or maybe just not knowing how

because none of it seems interesting enough.

Looking around thinking,

what objects can I take,

put into words,

and describe them

to make them sound like they’re worth more than diamonds.

An old, wooden desk?

Bulletin boards piled with photos on top of photos?

Maybe not,

but I could write about

not knowing what to write about,

and overthink the title

until there’s no more room left to think

and I settle on one

that I originally hated.

So with everything that I could possibly write about

I choose to write about how

I can’t write about anything.

Writer's block, right?

But a true writer can turn anything into art.

So maybe writer's block isn't so bad.

Maybe it's the fuel every writer needs

to find their own beauty.

The art in the simple things around them.

Because every writer

has their own style,

their own idea of what beauty is.

And that defines art.

See what I did there?

Writer's block

turned to art.

Didn't think I'd be writing about that

just thirty minutes ago,

until the idea came to mind.

But it never really did, did it?

That, my friend, is what I consider

the mind of a writer.