Blank Page

Sometimes the hardest thing as a writer
is the potential
of a blank page.
The voice in my head
is screaming to be put to paper
but which words
are the right ones to preserve?
With limited lines,
I must filter my mind,
but an edit means
I’m at war with those screams.
Anxiety grabs hold
and takes control
of the plume which remains
in idle hands
I try to resume
the first stroke of ink,
but then I think
of the disappointment others
(especially my mother)
will have
in what I have to say.
This day
was supposed to be productive,
but in trying to produce art
I’ve fallen apart.
Reduced to a bag of what-ifs
I sit
still staring at the same blank page.
Maybe I’ll try again tomorrow.