four weeks ago
I won a prize
for my poems
and with shining eyes
I sat down at my desk
like I usually do
and searched inside
for something new
I\'m tired of writing
the same old things
I want to break out
and unfurl my wings
But when I try to write my mind
the walls all go up
I\'m so used to shielding
can\'t refill my cup
where did it go?
am I losing my touch?
since straying from the norm
do I not write as much?
but even though
it\'s nothing you can see
in the middle of the night
I still write my dreams
I guess it\'s a good thing
I don\'t have to write
don\'t worry anymore
in the middle of the night
am I losing my touch?
or just moving on?
is it bad that I\'m afraid
my gift is soon gone?