Ars Poetica

I wake up with many words in my head.

Filled with passion, filled with dread.

A shower, quick, to collect my convictions.

To feed my never-ending addiction.

I scroll through my phone for my midnight conceptions,

which reading out loud now seem like deceptions.

No matter, it's time to sit down and write.

The action I love, that fills me with fright.

Seconds turn minutes, minutes turn hour.

I look at my writing and can only glower.

Delete it, erase it, now start again,

I remember it’s okay to fail now and then.

For the meaning I crave to put to the page.

Will surely only get better with age.

Repeat these steps until I find satisfaction,

And pray that my work will gain reader traction.

Though even if not, still I’ll persist.

For my hunger to write can't be easily dismissed.