Struggling to uncover the right words,
I tap my pen against the arm of my beige couch,
Out of anxiety.
I cross out misguided words and catchy phrases
That need not apply.
I build with aggravation.
I know the emotions are real,
But they do not want to surface.
I ball up pieces of fallen trees
And shoot bricks at the waste basket.
Like a volcano
I will soon erupt with rage.
I cannot hold my affection inside anymore.
I search with meandering eyes for inspiration.
I think happy thoughts…
All of a sudden
The inspiration arrives
I write the perfect masterpiece.
I bless the paper with my blood
I fold it three ways.
I slide my sacred letter into the envelope
I seal it shut…
Only to be opened by that special someone.
Once the tender letter is read
My truest feelings
Will finally be revealed.
© 2013 by Charles Banks, Jr.
Writing as Curiosity
Excerpt from Concrete Promises
Published by Spilt Ink Poetry