I’m losing steam. More accurately—I’m losing motivation and inspiration. I seem to be maxing out my capacity for writing poetry.
I’ve never tried to write this much in such a short period of time. My desire to write comes and goes. I’ve always thought I should be a writer but I’ve never been able to maintain the habit of writing for more than brief periods.
Nothing wrong with that, I don’t have to be a writer. But I committed to participating in NaPoWriMo and I’m unwilling to throw in the towel halfway through.
The prompts from the NaPoWriMo site for the first half of the month worked well for me. But these most recent few… Just not clicking. They’re not generating anything usable in my mind.
I need to write something if I want to keep going with this challenge. So, I turn to my usual strategy when I’m having difficulty making myself write—I write about not being able to write.
The Void
There is a void
Where I want my words to be.
The cornucopia of language
Dispenses wan banalities,
When I crave substance.
There is an absence
Where I seek meaning.
Expression is blank:
Can it truly be
That I have nothing to say?
There’s no poetry inside.
There’s a just a voice,
Circling through my mind,
Incessant, insistent:
“You’re not a poet.”
John the Librarian 