the hardest part is to start
from the middle from behind from without from within
the hardest part is staring down a blank page
as white as light
as light as us
as fresh as virginity
forced to destroy its perfect vast endless potential with your inadequacies
defiling it with you childhood traumas and blunt metaphors
ruining it with your contrived pipe dreams can’t you at least be original in those?
can’t you leave it blank
like new life not yet corrupted by promises
can’t you leave it blank
like a glass that never grows like a glass that never outgrows all the water in the world until its original contents seem like pathetic drops in the enormous glass surrounded by promise
can’t you leave it blank
like a mystery
can’t you leave it blank
like what if
can’t you leave it blank
like not falling in love
can’t you leave it blank
like potential
the hardest part is to start
wouldn’t it be nice if we could start at the end
but here i am
nothing nice
nothing made
at the end
just black marks on a once virgin page
and an empty glass in my hand