Noir

I am going to start here…

He asked “why aren’t writing anymore?”
He saw that it was my ecstasy
A natural high that I didn’t have to pop
My insights that I reflected about life
He sees the affects
How I am noticeably frayed
And turning completely noir
How not attending some kind of therapy
Is altering poetry
My visible, natural, born ability
The talent that makes me complete
Without it like a puzzle that isn’t quite intact
It’s got a hole in it..
Just like me
Ragged

He offered a solution that maybe I am content..
With the noticeable unbearable silence
That my life is now surrounded with
I agreed that fighting so very hard in the past
To turn down the audible noise
That was way too strident
For anyone with good sense to bear
Now that I can hear
I agree that I’ve gone mute..
I can’t speak
I told him even if I could..
I’ve found that I don’t have much to say

I told him a story
About how I kept the key to my poetry
In the pocket of my jeans
Took it out one day to write what “they” want
And now it’s now where to be found
My emotions are building up
Like an orgasm that is right there
Yet I can’t explode
Because my focus gets lost
Thoughts float away into mid air
Creativity gone
Followed by a blank stare

I asked him if he understood what I meant
He replied “yeah”


K...I don't know I feel as if this is a hot mess..My prof's say you just have to write to begin to write if that makes sense..Anyway..It's weak. But it's just a lil insight into how I feel..