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and adding to that, the work of finding a title for the mess
by Andrew S Adamsi've wasted so many pages in this notebook-
trying to write the next great poem or
novel or great expression of humanity.
hoping for once i could capture some
untapped emotion- feeling angst
(purile and elementary in it's own glory)
without writing the same poem every 15 year old would write.
you couldnt comprehend all the lines
i've started, only to waste in futility
the lines, shrouded in hope,
so proud that this might be the time
that they would form an image to
correlate with all this nonsense.
"my isolation is a box"
"i choke on the words"
"scars opening inside"
et cetera,
et cetera.
and i still havent managed
anything. a whiney, mindless
self pity job. give me ANYTHING
but this.
i begged god for a pen,
and this is the result. 06/13/2003 Posted on 06/14/2003
Copyright © 2025 Andrew S Adams
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Kalikala Smith on 06/14/03 at 05:31 AM this is poetry at its best i think... you just let go and let it out |
| Posted by Jean Mollett on 06/18/03 at 04:32 AM Hi Andrew,
It's not as bad as you think. Hey, you just wrote something. Sounds like a little of writers block, been there. Don't been so hard on yourself, it will arrive. Peace & Joy, Jean |
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