The diary of a poet is a very full one indeed
full of scribbles and quotes
possible poem names and ideas
Every inch of paper contains the madness of a never-quiet mind
and the ink stains fingers
It hides in the groves of nails and skin
never a moment where you can forget
But never enough ink to write down all you need to say
Never enough time
The diary of a poet is a mad one indeed
With scratched-out verses and words that don’t fit together
With random pretty words and
And nothing else
After pages and pages of lines and adjectives, nouns, and verbs
The diary runs blank
Because there is nothing left
The pen is empty and the ink burns my stomach
The pages are blank and I stand there eager to put my mind to paper
But nothing comes out
The diary of a poet
Is an unfulfilled one, indeed
As the poet is made to put poetic fancies away
Because flowery will never pay the bills
And the poet studies law or business or architecture or engineering
While they dream of stories and universes, and verses circle their minds and their fingers itch to pick up a pen again
While their diary gathers dust under their bed.
