Blank
A blank sheet, a blank sheet, waiting for me to give it meaning.
A blank mind, wanting to express, wanting to let it all out,
Where do I start?
I start here.
A mind, a heart, aching to be heard.
Aching to be understood.
Who will hear me?
Who will break apart the riddle?
The poem is a great thing, I tell you it is.
A blank sheet, a blank sheet, waiting for me to give it meaning.
The words that cannot be spoken,
The painting I cannot paint,
The music I cannot compose.
That’s the reason I write.
Everyone will interpret these words of mine differently.
None of them are wrong,
I don’t even know the answer.
A blank sheet, a blank sheet, waiting for me to give it meaning.
Childhood struggles, pain, and anger,
Teenage confusion, being misunderstood
Adulthood, financial problems, doubt,
Insecurities tug at my ankles when I least expect it.
Yet, this sheet.
I write and this sheet consumes it all.
A blank sheet, a blank sheet, giving my life meaning.