Right in front of me

Why can’t I write

Why does my soul put up a fight

All of these words and phrases inside

Why must I rhyme

Why can’t my work be catchy

I wish I knew Shakespeare

He’d understand

Or Langston Hughes

He was probably an understanding man

Why can’t I do poetry

Write down my feelings

Let them see what’s inside of me

Why can’t I master figurative language

This problem drives my soul

Round and round

And then it hits me

I’m writing it down