beauty in the beat

I don’t want to write about now.
I’m trying to write this poem but I can’t.
I just can’t seem to get the words on this piece of paper.

And it’s really not that weird because you see;
How can I get words on paper
if I don’t even want them in my head?
On paper I’m trying to form these
supposedly beautiful sentences
but in my head I’m tearing them apart.

Deep down I know every single word
I want to write but
I just can’t.
Because writing means realizing.

Writing means digging deep down inside of me.
Clawing down to each painful memory
and ripping out the words meant to adorn
this paper.

And I can’t do that.
I can’t take out my beating heart
and scrape out all the beautiful words,
just for you.
Not again.

Not anymore.
I still want to give you wonderful things
But you have already taken the best pieces of

Sometimes all that is left to be said
is written on empty paper.

—  //vp unfinishedlines