Writer's Block
Blank page
Empty, white and clean.
It taunts me.
Potential -
there's so much there,
but nothing comes.
Make a mark,
a line,
a doodle -
anything to mar that white.
Still, nothing comes.
What if nothing ever comes?
Can this empty page
take away what I am,
how I define myself?
Why is my most important tool
so menacing?
Emma
You dance wildly,
not caring who sees.
You run with an energy I envy.
Then, you are by my side,
a picture of innocence.
You giggle madly
and tug my arm,
begging so plainly,
grinning wide.
Already, you know I will give in.
I could never refuse you.
Hard to say no to a five year old.
