*part one of a performance piece. breaking them up so the post isnt as long. they do, however, go together. same poem*
Dont call it writer's block
im past all that
dont call it being shaky
rusty
or having to get my, groove back
-thats stella
im not that cat
its unreal cuz i cant seem to conceive the problem poetry has with me
it must be deep
its gotta be
cuz its not happening the way it used to
they like
what happened to him he used to be good
im past falling off
or tipping over
my poetical aptitude has ceased
im slow as hell compared to how i used to be
cuz
it seems,
poetry has a deep issue with me
walking past my old book the other day
it cut its eyes at me
"whats wrong???"
it sucked its teeth
"whats the problem seem to be?"
it said
"you dont touch me like you used to
my pages are still clean
its been too long since ive seen the ball of your pen
or your eyes' gleam"
so now im thinking theres something about the way she move...
and i cant figure it out, its just something about her...
cuz poetry done turned into the kinda woman that wants you but dont need you...
but its something about her...
me and poetry's message was misinterpreted
now she turned into miss independent and she working it
without me
her attention no longer on me
i cant give her what she needs
seems ive been poetry's love since i was born
now im stuck trying to deal with poetry scorned.
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