Tall, Dark, And Emotionally Unstable. Poem by Jeremy Willson

When people say I'm good with words
I don't know if I should believe it
I've written hundreds of poems
Many a short story, notes, letters
Birthday wishes, postcards
And none of them have ever
Ever, been satisfactory in my head
At times I want to burn the roughest pages
Rewrite it all with ink instead of blood
Freshly poured from wounds that won't heal
Or from places hidden in my heart
Maybe that's why I don't enjoy them
Everything about it is too familiar
It stings and makes me ball my hands into fists
Leaving calluses on the palms
I viciously try to believe that I know what to say
But sometimes I really have no clue
I have nothing but a blank mind
A blank stare, and a bunch of bullshit to spare.