Blank Piece of Paper
I call it May, but it feels like dust,
a loop of days I’ve learned to mistrust.
Fresh page, old ink — the same tired spin,
hoping this time, the new month lets me win.
April came with cluttered skies,
a head full of noise and silent whys.
Intrusive thoughts with permanent stay,
spilling their weight into every day.
Creative dreams in sluggish crawl,
I built a site, expecting it all —
That magic would follow a button pressed,
That “publish” meant I’d done the rest.
But growth is slow, and truth cuts deep,
no riches waiting while I sleep.
No queue of clients at the door,
just doubts I’ve danced with once before.
Still, I stay. I sketch. I try.
I grit my teeth, I don’t ask why.
Use this work as canvas raw,
not bound by likes or silent awe.
No medals pinned, no hands to cheer,
just me — alone, but drawing near.
To comfort in the unrefined,
to earning peace in my own time.
Image Generated by ChatGPT - Blank Piece of Paper
About this Poem
Blank Piece of Paper is a poetic reflection on the slow, often invisible labour of creating something meaningful. Set against the backdrop of a new month and the fading energy of a creative launch, it captures the quiet disappointment that follows expectation, and the stubborn act of continuing anyway. It speaks to every writer, artist, or dreamer who’s clicked publish hoping for magic, only to find silence. This is a poem about showing up, sitting with doubt, and making peace with slow growth.
