Paper on desk, pen in hand
45 minutes to write just 21 lines

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Reading a poem is like walking outside
on a beautiful spring day,
after hibernating the entire bone chilling winter

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

but writing one is like being stuck in traffic
on your first day of work
or trying painting a masterpiece
without any paint

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I’m a writer, a novelist
But the walls of this room are closing in
The paper is growing
But my pen gets smaller

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I tear the paper in half & grab a new pen
Torn and beaten, the poem finally gives in
45 minutes, 21 lines

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.