A Glimpse into a Poet's Block (Poetry)

I’ve been struggling to write
Like a stranger to the smell of a pen
I’ve been sitting in my bed
Thinking about a million memory
But not being able to pin even one
Not with words, not anymore
And I have been patient
Counted the days of a poet’s block
And multiplied it by ten
Waited a couple more
And I am here right now
Admitting it out loud
I’ve been struggling to write
Can you imagine that?
These pages that have been my shelter
A home I run to,
To write all what I am afraid to say
Are no longer my shelter now
Nor are they my home
I’ve been homeless for so long
Because I’ve been struggling to write
I’ll struggle with my thoughts all day
And the moment I try to pin them down, They’re gone,
Just like you were gone
So fast, so quick
Almost like they weren’t even here Almost like you weren’t even here
I’ve been struggling to write
For so long,
That I tried to pin it all,
The time I couldn’t hold a pen anymore
The words I wrote the last,
And it got me back to that night,
The night “we” became “you and I”
The night “us” became a past,
And I’ve been struggling to write since you left
It’s no surprise that you were my muse
But it’s almost like it was only you this whole time,
Like you were the poet yourself
And I’ve been living a lie,
Another one,
Other than you and I.
I’ve been struggling to write
A truth I can no longer hide,
Thinking these pages were my home
When it was you all along,
And here it is all
The truth I’ve come to know
I am no poet after all,
And I’ve been homeless with my pages
Because we’ve both lost you,
Our home,
And I’ve been struggling to write
Because you were everything
The muse and the words
The light and the verse
And you had it all,
As much as you had me
You were the poet,
The poem
And everything in between it all.

I am the watcher from afar
In your shadow, in the shifting white doorways
that swallow sunsets and gnaw through nights
I follow your breath, your chest, falling like the gentlest snow
and its imperceptible rise
In the welcoming, dewy mouths of cerulean lilies, I linger
where they blossom, over your meadow of skin
dusted with the softest conceivable shower of stardust
in the curve, where your hand rests pressed against a geometry of the heaven
Lines that sculpt and divide the world and time
I sift through the inky pretense and the artifice to caress, unseen,
All that would never be, and yet remains only mine
In the dappled, shifting in-betweens of our crossed existence
I live and die in a thousand differently conjured fantasies
None of which but flicker, on the horizon of our impermanence
All of which are inherently damned, to never be
But you are unreal, and I am unlettered in these ways
in the maelstroms that people this feckless sea
I chart my way to you, half-blinded, as though navigating by the stars
But I am the watcher from afar
And you are too far from me.