untitled doc.exe


United States

I miss the sound of inspiration

I used to play my clarinet every day

I used to be very passionate about music

but the thing is dreams only exist in fairy tales

and when i write i feel like i sound like i was in middle school

Edgey disconnect

Trying too hard

Wanting to excell above the rest to prove I was different

I'm here now as an adult. 


Twenty-two years

I work a day job and I come home and sit on my computer

What was my life made for

I feel a calling for something bigger 

but I am stuck in the writers block

and the tug of war on my mind pulls me into frustration and then hints inspirtation

When I type i feel the blood rushing 

When I reread I dispatch of the creation I made

But I feel the need to do something more but motivation sits at the bottom of an empty bottle

I was supposed to be bigger than this

But I am stuck in this cycle

Go to work

Go home

Make dinner


Stay up later than I should

Follow and repeat

I know I am bigger than this

But I have bills and the excuses

They keep flowing over and over

I used to have a notebook and I wrote in it

Almost every day. 

I kept it close to my heart as much as I could

But maybe not close enough

Because I forgot what it felt like to create art

And in this discord of just spewing thing to help sort this


This discord in my heart

I feel it deeply but I just cannot grasp

the words

to explain



what can I do

I just keep typing until something

Makes me feel something more than just confusion

and limitation



This poem is about: 


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