I Will Sit and Write
A poem of frustration toward the creative process
She develops a routine, and she neglects creativity.
She becomes distracted by daily life, and she longs for more.
She tells herself each day:
I will sit and write.
Then, something anti-climactic happens — she doesn't.
She’s hungry for inspiration, but each day is the same.
She thinks, sits, stares, and waits.
She waits for the opportunity to pounce,
To reach for a subject that flows through her veins,
and travels effortlessly to the tip of her pen,
but every time, she leaves discouraged.
Her page blank — she is empty.
She tells herself each day:
I will sit and write.
Patience is not her strong suit.
Frustration builds as her thoughts are left unheard,
but only because she cannot produce them.
She is in a dream, and she needs help.
She can’t scream or speak.
Words exist, but they cannot escape.
She sulks about what will become of her.
She wakes up.
She sits down.
She writes.
She writes her frustration.
She writes and blossoms,
and words escape her once more.
