the mornings i have something to say
but really only the concept at hand
sans the ability to say it
are the weirdest mornings for me—
i can glance around
and be inspired
by the puppy
or the pillows surrounding me
or the music pounding itself
into the beats of each
heart
thump
thump
thump
but i won’t ever be satisfied
with the potential
when i know a full universe of poetry
is hiding somewhere inside of me
if i could only
access it
find the key
to my very being
it would come spilling
drip, stream, rushing
pushing poems upon poems
with each press of my pulse
on a lettered key

but i feel lost
i feel in the dark in my own soul
i feel like i may never know
my inside insights
in full…