These blank pages intimidate me. Why can’t I write on them? I touch the pages Turn on some music Light a candle In hopes it will inspire me To write something profound But the empty page Only stares back at me I go weeks without writing And when I finally can put words to the page There aren’t many of them My dream is to write a book But at this rate It will be merely be a collection Of random thoughts Captured throughout my life Mostly in times of pain or struggle Because those are the times My feelings are strongest Maybe it’s not that I’m no good at writing, It’s that I don’t put enough time into making it something more.
– C.A. Sullivan