Blank
It’s like
My eyes blind me,
I’m
A shepherd that is lead
By the sheep,
I know
It’s wrong.
It’s as if these
Words
Are Instant “Coffee”
Quick, but only half of what
It should be.
It’s as if the ink doesn’t stick
As if the
Page
Is
Still
Blank.
(I’m using an old poem to reflect my current feelings- even thought I still enjoy writing poetry, it feels as if they’re not what they used to be, or what they could be. I won’t stop writing though (sorry!))
