The trouble with words. [Sleep on it.]

I wanted to put it all down
and say what I meant for once
spill my twisted guts onto the paper

and see the stain they left.

I took my pen and drove it into my
stomach
hoping it was a start
but all I got was a trickle
of words
a phrase or two of what I thought

I knew I was going about it the wrong way
So I picked up my laptop and
hit myself over the head.

a few drops from my nose.

a “maybe” a “because” an “I”.

I slept and dreamed a thousand dreams
of letters and wingdings and ink.

And when I awoke I knew what it was.
I just can't write poetry.
I stink.