Metawriting

I’ve been avoiding the pen like it’s the pest,

This static state has been going on for months –

About time somebody points a metaphorical stake at my chest,

And forces me to pour down my heart into paper.

And don’t believe me if I say „please, let me do it to LATER“.

So many writers are out of words but

We don’t talk about it,

While we constantly think about it,

Why can‘t we write about it?

The stage wrung me out like a sponge last year,

I read my poems so many times in front of others,

That I promised myself I’d take a break before coming back on here.

And when I asked other slammers if the same thing bothers

Them, they all agreed.

So many performers feel pressed out of passion but

We don’t talk about it,

While we constantly think about it,

Why don’t speak up about it?

I want to write about politics,

I can’t.

I want to write about my friends.

I can’t.

I want to write about love,

No chance.

It’s a lose-lose-lose situation so

I don’t talk about it,

Although all I’m thinking about is how

I’m unable to produce one effortless line.

It’s a matter of patience versus time,

Until the letters – once again -, become words, become phrases,

Until the rhymes naturally fall back into their designated places.

Ⓒ Elena Natroshvili