Seemingly Impossible Poem by Jacqui Broad

Wanting to pen down thoughts,
I find myself shying away.
So now, I just make ink spots,
hoping it will have
something to say.
My fingers clutch the pen
with a stronghold,
making patterns of
flowers and leaves.
Wishing this fairy tale
will unfold,
as dots become a
teardropp that seeps.
No, I still cannot write
down what I feel.
My muse must've left me,
while I was sleeping.
To whom now should
I appeal,
if my own heart
starts weeping?
Give up to be a writer?
Impossible! Nothing would seem brighter...