writer’s struggle

I tried making a poem

with internal rhyme and

ended up with a masterpiece

of spacebars and enter keys

I'm done forcing poems out of me

strings of words tied in bows don't

flow, if I must bleed words, self-inflict

a few choice cuts that will change things

contained in the walls of a room called mediocrity

I will wallpaper them with truth and

learn inspiration, like

a second language

or the better half of me

a wall is a solid and sounds are vibrations

and my heart beats strong enough to shake foundations

neurons pass messages around in my head

it says: in second grade

we learned sound travels fastest

in solids and

I know I will be heard