The Blank Page

The cursor tsks at me with every flash

Impatient for the first mistake

Sneering “I told you so”

Before I have typed a single T

 

How can I encapsulate every fear, doubt, anxiety

When the very thing I want to write about tells me

“You can’t do this”

 

I have laid in hospital beds bleeding

A casualty in the battle my body wages on itself

Only to find out that this is chronic war

Just like the flares, acceptance comes and goes

 

I have eviscerated myself before a crowd

Words I wrote with blood I shed

Hands and voice shivering despite the heat in my cheeks

Gone home with a medal for bravery

 

I have made it through much worse than this

--This--

Why am I listening to the nagging doubt

When I’ve proven it wrong?

 

Maybe the blank page will never stop

Every keystroke is a battle

I’m not quite done fighting, yet.

This poem is about: 
Me

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