Under My Sofa

Start at the Beginning

Staring down at a blank page
As my brain tries to engage
Inertia trapping me in a cage
Of savage stillness and silent rage

That is always the hardest part
Of attempting to make any art
Splitting dreams and logic apart
To reach forwards and just start

Sharp words spear the inside of my skull
But by the time they reach the paper they're dull
Meaning becomes void and null
Pen stroking my words to find a lull

Fire and wind tries to kill
My spheres of language until
A place of calmness is what I will
The eye of the storm is deathly still

Words hammer inside my head
Screaming that dreaming and logic are dead
Telling me to self-destruct instead
Spinning tales, painting red

But my pen waits calmly there
I feel it's constant stare
Inking the paper layer by layer
Silent, a little better for wear

And eventually I force myself
To order my emotions onto a shelf
To coax words to follow in guise of stealth
To shuffle syllables together in sickness and health

***

It has been a while, I am very sorry.

Ironically, I've had the first two verses of this poem for about two weeks, but I didn't know where I wanted to take it next.

In fact, I'd basically decided not to finish it, but boom, inspiration. So here we go. Have yet another first person poem about writing.

~ Alex xxx