a poem about nothing

J. H.

i don’t know what this poem is about

i ran out of ideas weeks ago

the last poem of substance i wrote

was for my mom’s birthday

three years ago

but i read a quote by robert frost

“i have never started a poem yet whose end i knew”

and i realized

i just need to keep writing

i looked at the greats

sappho, frost, dickinson, poe, angelou (the list goes on)

and all i see are people

geniuses

but people, who wanted to write

they needed to write so badly

the words just flowed out of them like water

or so we think

i think they spent hours perfecting their craft

locked in their rooms, doing nothing but

          writing

making it look easy to the average eye

they probably had writer's block at some point

and so it’s not so bad that i have it too

because i just need to perfect my craft

i may not be a sylvia plath or t.s. eliot

but i am a poet

so i keep writing

i keep writing my poems about nothing

hoping that one day

i’ll write a poem about something