It never came to me for a while,
And then the urge
Had me tossing and turning,
It had me laughing and crying.
I had to write poetry.
And it has to come to you like this
It has make you lift your heavy arms
To write some more,
It has to be that one and only
sober moment when you've emptied a good bottle,
Or it has to be that one and only drunk
moment when you're walking around the early city lights
And
You think,
" Oh, brown hair looks prettier during twilight. "
If not writing poetry doesn't hurt like
a scissor blades stretching two of your ribs apart,
If you cannot feel its fingers draw cold shivers on your cheeks,
If it doesn't make you believe that
it is yours and solely yours,
Then don't write poetry.
Wait,
Wait.
Wait until your moments come.