Stare at the screen lost in thought,
these words I write, they claw at me.
Can not decide, is it all for naught?
Click publish, for the world to see.
Or not, is there anything worthy of
a blank white page? Will anyone read
these feelings of doubt, of love?
Is it only my ego that I feed?
My mind in turmoil the words I find
slip away untethered into the air.
What is life but a badly made rhyme?
To say what I feel is never fair.
Truth and fiction go hand in hand
to stroll the backroads of my thought.
Blue highways on the map can
lead me to the wreckage that I’ve wrought.
Say it, flail it, curse it, scream.
Crash it, smash it, write it down.
The belief that I can write, a dream.
Read out loud to hear the sound.
Finally it comes and with it, ecstasy.
These demons called words find their place.
Read it, save it, or hit the delete key,
Crap is still crap when covered with lace.
Once again I’ve created something to give away.
Something to hold or use or throw.
Is it art? I don’t know, not for me to say.
Behold the reader, it is for you to know.