Quiet Please
Uninspiring blank pages stare back at me
Giggling as my eyes droop and my pen falls.
A quick head jerk and they laugh even louder.
as if I’m not even there.
The pages tell me that I’m not smart enough to prompt intellectual conversations.
How do they know about intellectual conversations?
They say that I lack personality therefore how could I ever inspire.
How did they know that?
They say my uneventful life blocks me from insightful and deep writing.
Who do they think they’re talking about?
They continue to rant about how no one will ever get it. My words won’t arouse dreams, motivate change, or encourage a desire to understand life.
Their voices haunt my dreams and paralyze my mind. They have me trapped on the bed, pen and paper in hand but they are talking so loud I can’t hear my voice.
And so I can’t arouse, motivate, encourage, or inspire anyone or anything.
I don’t write.
No one will ever get it.