My mind slides to home
base
Verdant roses and
hydrangeas
Bud and bloom in happiness
Wasps of delicate vines
entwine
Wrap around my fecund mind
In between rows of
thriving verses
Barren land asks for
seeding
That they may germinate
with abandon
That they may bloom into
prosaic wisps
In between thoughts,
dryness stares
They cause doubts of
ability
Cast burdens of writer’s
block
They say I should sit and
write
Unworthy thoughts not my
best creations
Vacant lots welcome all
travelers
The house of lackluster
prose
The house of distressed
property
My mind hits home runs
When silent cheers rebear
energy
I prance around like Ali,
the Greatest
Delivering uppercuts and
jabs
To in-between thought vacancies
Swift moves away from
ensnarement
Attempts to grab arms by
in-between thoughts
When my mind refuses to
bloom
These are any writer’s
nightmares
--My dream has loved paper so much for so long because it gave influence to the parched voice of a fashionista poet. Finding this outlet, that voice is now replete with expressive sound.
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