Oh, Writers Block...:

because the silence is stifling and ever expanding,
I cannot stretch out my soul
cramped, curled, there is a spasm jumping through
that longs to be words
and raises tendrils, hungry, seeking sun,
uncurling fiercely in the throat  
where emotion hangs like a sugar-bloated fruit
and bends the frail branch on which it swings
with an aching creak
 
your silence breeds silence
and how I want to express this
devoid of swollen metaphors,
without resorting to comfortable ambiguity,
letting the tension escape like a pin-pricked balloon,
revealing all,
without a merest hint of poetry
monosyllables, gazes, grunts if I must
coming off the page, and into your ear
unavoidably clear, audibly-
here.
JLynn23 JLynn23
22-25, F
May 9, 2012