I Don't Want to Write a Poem

Ask me why, and I’ll hand you my pen, tell me not to go,

And I’ll trace the outline of your final words against my skin.

You demand a line, a tune, a hymn to hum, something to fall asleep to

But nothing I write could satiate your appetite,

because nothing I write is good enough for you.

-

I have been juiced dry of all substance and creativity,

There’s an empty spot where my pen used to be,

My notebook is a cavern without a bear,

My desk, its silent echo.

But no matter how much I tell you, NO, today I cannot write!

Your hunger controls you, and you force my wrist,

devouring until half-full,

Because nothing I write is good enough for you.

-

So do not ask me to write, I can’t take it anymore, at least not tonight,

In the morning, when I’ve had my morning coffee,

Perhaps something new will inspire,

And I’ll return, seize my pen, the very one I gave you,

And try this thing called writing all over again,

Because nothing I write is good enough for you.