I miss the way
that my pencil or pen
scratches into the paper
when I write a poem
as of two weeks ago
I hadn’t written a poem
or anything creative
since the President was elected
that day in deep depression
I had to write something
to commiserate with the world
on the most heartbreaking thing
after that day
the creative muse slipped away
I inundated myself with school
trapped my creativity with work
only now with an end in sight
to the years of school
I started too late
and a job I love in my grasp
only now with the President
so close to losing his office
and with creativity and time
allowing themselves in my life
only now with love around me
opportunity always emailing
and the world in turmoil
do I finally choose to create
to feel the pen and paper
meet in conflict
the immoveable object
the unstoppable force
the satisfaction of seeing words
carved onto the page
when they were nowhere
not at all long ago
the writing I have done
and there has been a lot
has not scratched this itch
or satisfied this soul
the countless hours
of reading inane texts
with content galore
that meant nothing to me
the names of professors
which I forgot
within days or hours
of finishing their courses
the miles of dry erase
that I have wiped
from the boards in my office
or stickys trashed from the wall
hundreds of thousands of words
millions of pen strokes
fingers smashing keys
mouse clicks to select crap I wrote
while I am proud
of the challenge I faced
working 40 to 80 hours
each and every week
while I am proud
of the struggle to maintain
good grades and full course load
semester after semester
I am distraught
by all of the joy
I could have created
had I allowed myself
what story could I have written
what poem might I have penned
how many people
could I have impacted
instead I abandoned it
creativity and outlet
for accomplishment and distraction
only now realizing the loss
I have missed this
I know I will miss it again
in the course of life
distraction always seems to win
that my pencil or pen
scratches into the paper
when I write a poem
as of two weeks ago
I hadn’t written a poem
or anything creative
since the President was elected
that day in deep depression
I had to write something
to commiserate with the world
on the most heartbreaking thing
after that day
the creative muse slipped away
I inundated myself with school
trapped my creativity with work
only now with an end in sight
to the years of school
I started too late
and a job I love in my grasp
only now with the President
so close to losing his office
and with creativity and time
allowing themselves in my life
only now with love around me
opportunity always emailing
and the world in turmoil
do I finally choose to create
to feel the pen and paper
meet in conflict
the immoveable object
the unstoppable force
the satisfaction of seeing words
carved onto the page
when they were nowhere
not at all long ago
the writing I have done
and there has been a lot
has not scratched this itch
or satisfied this soul
the countless hours
of reading inane texts
with content galore
that meant nothing to me
the names of professors
which I forgot
within days or hours
of finishing their courses
the miles of dry erase
that I have wiped
from the boards in my office
or stickys trashed from the wall
hundreds of thousands of words
millions of pen strokes
fingers smashing keys
mouse clicks to select crap I wrote
while I am proud
of the challenge I faced
working 40 to 80 hours
each and every week
while I am proud
of the struggle to maintain
good grades and full course load
semester after semester
I am distraught
by all of the joy
I could have created
had I allowed myself
what story could I have written
what poem might I have penned
how many people
could I have impacted
instead I abandoned it
creativity and outlet
for accomplishment and distraction
only now realizing the loss
I have missed this
I know I will miss it again
in the course of life
distraction always seems to win
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