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
