Writing a poem is like a sword fight

You are trying to figure out if you still have what it takes,

to leave your soul in every word.

To paint the perfect picture with a shortage of supplies

Nothing but black ink, a blank canvas,

Your lackluster attention span,

And an imagination that has gone

Far more than it has come in the last few months

The only other witness is a blinking vertical line

Staring back at you like a chess opponent

Peering into your insecurities, making you second guess your next move.

Just as your imposter syndrome begins to peak…

“Are you sure you want to delete that?”

Your blinking opponent asks.

You’re reminded of the term “poker face”

You fix your face as to not look completely confused

And straighten your posture

“You must think first before you move”

As you inhale and exhale

You begin to expelle

The self doubt and judgment clouding your thoughts

You’ll be reminded of the idea that made you brave enough to take a seat in front of that mocking vertical line, in the first place.

You’ll remember that you need to write

You might not be some kind of god sent prophet,

But the stories that live in your mind have yet to be written

You’ll remember that you have a voice

Itching to be heard,

Clawing at the back of your throat to be exposed.

You’ll remember…

Your voice is immensely strong

immune to nearly any weapon

When it’s properly used it’s almost invincible.