By Karin Gold

I can’t write poetry.

I never could.

Words don’t come out

the way I think they should.

My words fly out my mouth

choppy, awkward, and broken

Like a poor one-winged dove.

An attempt at grace

That fails miserably.

I can’t write poetry.

I really can’t.

The thoughts that

cloud my mind

are just too loud.

Too much for

my mouth to form.

For my hand to write.

I can’t write poetry.

I never will.

It feels too odd

forming thoughts

while molding them

into short lines and

counted syllables.

Seems a little contradictory.

I can’t write poetry.

I never could.

Published on page 48 of the Spring 2012 issue of Leviathan.

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