When I first started to write stuff

It was easy to write a poem

I had lots of stories in my head

They were often dusty but tellable

My well of old stories ran dry

Plagiarism was not the answer

I had to dig deeper

Find new subjects to write about

I started to focus on objects

Imagining that they were alive

The dishwasher had funny stories to tell

My closet was full of gossip

Some days everything goes quiet

The trees stop whispering to me

The clouds are all asleep

Sunrise is aloof and gives me a polite silent smile

In desperation I started to write fiction

Creating characters in my head

I give them the freedom to act

They perform and I take notes

My actors are great for a week or so

Then they mysteriously disappear

I have no idea where they go

The stage in my mind becomes empty and quiet

My feelings are ever so dependable

Take a chair Mr Happiness

Spill everything while your psychiatrist scribbles

The inner peace and love poetry soon goes stale

I desperately want more tools in my writing toolbox

It just came to me in a flash right now

I can write about all the amazing people I know

My next poem might be about you