The Poem

The words are coming together

Almost as if they were meant to be

The lines turning into a story

Not unlike others

But written differently

My fingers stop

Hesitate over the keys

“Damnit, I lost my train of thought.”

I roll my eyes in frustration

As I read over what I just wrote

None of it seems to make sense

Like it did only moments before

“I hate when this happens”

“No, keep going”

A voice says over my shoulder

I close my eyes

Take a deep breath

Open, and stare at the page in front of me

“What rhymes with stare?”

Glare…bare…hair…

No words seem to fit

It hits me

That I’m blanking because the poem is done

Or at least it’s done with me